


The Highest Of Highs And The Lowest Of Lows

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking down Moriarty's criminal network is something Sherlock Holmes has told himself he has to do, and friends to help are few and far between since most of the world believes him to be dead and gone. He's already gotten Irene Adler to help, but his brother Mycroft pulls Molly Hooper out of the relative safety of London to offer her own assistance and temper Irene's increasingly violent suggestions as to how to solve the problem of a vast criminal network. To Sherlock, Molly represents the side of himself he's losing the more time he spends listening to the devil on his shoulder, and he clings to the hope she brings with her. But clinging to that hope will cost him more than he ever imagined, and certainly more than he was willing to pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meddlesomewiz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meddlesomewiz/gifts).



> I signed up for a very cool Big Bang challenge called **bigbang_mixup** on Livejournal where I picked an incredible mix that was called "Gone But Not Forgotten." My mixer **meddlesomewiz** worked with me to tailor the mix to my story and I think we've both done an absolutely fantastic job. I'm posting this early because (due to family emergencies and a faulty hard drive) I will most likely be unable to post it in August unless the situation changes, and I wanted it up now just in case.
> 
> I am going to be very upfront about this. This is a _very_ dark fic. It's honest to God the most depressing and brutal thing I have ever written. I asked people on Tumblr if I should write a fic where I absolutely ruin Sherlock's life and the answer was a resounding yes. On top of the listed warnings there is also an implied miscarriage and plans for suicide by drug overdose in this story. So you have been warned.
> 
>  **EDIT:** The mix is live! You can listen to it [here](http://8tracks.com/meddlesomewiz/gone-but-not-forgotten) on 8tracks.

He had known, as soon as he had fallen off that roof, that the hard part was just beginning. With the echo of a gunshot in his mind, his conversation with John in his ear, he knew he had to leave it all behind and take down the criminal network Moriarty had left standing, the web he'd been able to weave where he could pluck a single strand and men died and profits were made and Moriarty had gained more power. Power had been everything to him and nothing as well. He had exercised his power until it bored him, until he had let Moriarty down, and then he had thrown it away to force Sherlock to finish his great game.

It had been three months since he jumped off the roof. He had tried the first month to do it all on his own, but even with the occasional bit of help from Mycroft it was hard. It was like putting a blindfold on him and then trying to guide him with words instead of helping him move through the maze; in the end, he simply didn't have enough information. And trying not to remind people of who he really was, making them think Sherlock Holmes was dead and buried in the ground instead of walking amongst them...that was harder than he had ever imagined. And so he sought out help.

It had been a very long time since his encounter with her in Mycroft's office, when he cracked the password to her phone. It had been just a short time less since he saved her from being beheaded. And Irene Adler had done a much better job getting lost, of blending into the frothing sea of humanity to become as indistinguishable as possible. But he had found her, followed her through the streets of Paris before cornering her at a cafe on the corner. They both looked different now; she was not as soft as she had been, harder now, with short red hair which was straight instead of wavy and less elegant clothes than what she had worn before. His own looks had been changed just as drastically; he'd bleached his hair blond and cut off most of the curls, and gone were the sharp cut suits and iconic greatcoat. But he would recognize her anywhere, the woman who beat him. No man could ever forget something like that. And she remembered him, her own personal savior.

She wasn't surprised to see him. She followed the news; the suicide of a fake genius who might or might not be complicit in the crimes he helped solve was bound to make news all over. She had seen the articles but hadn't believed them. She said others held out hope, that this was some elaborate trap, some cunning plan to prove the slander against him. And when he asked for her help, she said she would happily oblige. She would help him get lost and tell him all the secrets she knew, all the things that could help him in his quest to rid the world of Moriarty's influence, once and for all. She would help him and all she asked is that she be allowed to go with him. It might make things harder at some point, he had thought to himself, but help would be most appreciated as long as he could get it.

She spun her own web, he realized after a few weeks of them traveling together. Her web was different: violence and seduction, each in their own turn. The violence he knew would be coming; you couldn't take down trained killers by talking to them or reasoning with them. He had expected there to be violence of varying degrees. He knew he would have to get rough, have to possibly kill. He had steeled himself for that. He would be willing to take one not so innocent life to save countless others. He didn't relish it, but he would commit acts of violence to further his own agenda. But he had not expected her to demand it so much, or demand the levels that she wanted. She had changed since he saved her life, and he was not altogether sure it was for the better.

The seduction surprised him. He had had sex before but generally did not find a release in it, not to the same extent that others did. It was something he needed once in a great while, an urge he could usually sublimate by retreating into his mind palace and shutting off those urges. But just as she coerced more violence from him, she also coerced him to give her release. It was purely a physical relationship; he would never confuse what they had with love or caring. It was raw and heated but limited only to the physical act. In the end she would leave him alone with his thoughts and he would wonder why he did it all, why he let her take what she wanted from him without putting up much of a fight. In the end he assumed it was because he thought her way was the right way, the way that would get results. The way that he could walk out of this entire mess with some semblance of his life intact.

These thoughts crept up on him at odd moments, like when they were on a train ride traveling from one bustling city to another, or when he was smoking a cigarette, a habit he had picked up again within weeks of leaving London. When he was by himself, when she wasn't exerting her influence on him, he would think about everything, about the direction his life was taking and what he was losing the further he walked down this path. When he was gathering information he could shunt those thoughts to the side, pretend they didn't exist, but now that his mind palace was no longer a safe haven he found they haunted him.

Today he was in Munich, and he was trying to get information from someone relatively high up on Moriarty's food chain. Not as high as the men and women he needed to get to, the people he needed to hurt or kill to sever another strand on the web. There were more men like the one in front of them than there were people in the higher echelons of the organization, but he found that even the lower people in the food chain had some useful information if he coerced them into talking. This man, however, was hard to break. He pretended he spoke no English, just German, but Sherlock could see the glint of recognition in the man's eyes every time he asked a question. He understood very well what he was saying, which was a telling sign he had secrets worth holding onto.

“You're going to tell me everything you know,” Sherlock said, taking the butt of his pistol and cracking it into the side of the man's head. Blood trickled down and the man's head jerked to the side from the impact. Irene looked on, looking for all the world impassive, but he knew that violence on this level from him excited her. He knew that, tonight, she would find her way to his bed and show him just how excited she had become. He didn't know whether he would look forward to it or loathe the idea of it. That probably depended on how the rest of his day went.

The man looked up at him. He was not big and burly, but rather tall and scrawny, just like him. It would not be all that hard to break fingers, shatter kneecaps, cause him immeasurable pain he would never fully recover from. Right now it was coming down to a battle of willpower, to see who held out the longest. “Nein,” he said, staring defiantly at Sherlock.

“You should break a bone or two,” Irene said, moving closer to the man. “Something that will be hard to recover from.” She moved over to the man and knelt down, looking the man in his eyes. “You could shatter his kneecaps. It would be hard to walk after that. I'm just not sure whether you should take the lead pipe to them or just shoot him.” She gave the man a smile as she said it, and Sherlock could see it made the man uneasy. Then she stood and looked at him. “Shoot them. It will hurt more.”

“Wait,” he said finally, his voice accented with a thick German accent. “I will tell you what you want to know.”

“See? That wasn't so hard,” she said, standing up. She ran her fingers across his chest as she walked around him, letting her hand move up to his shoulder and then settling on the back of his neck. “I knew you understood what we were saying.”

“You are a bloodthirsty bitch,” he spat out.

“Are you going to let him speak that way to me?” Irene asked, looking at Sherlock and raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock hesitated. The man was cooperating. There was no need to cause him further damage if he was indeed going to tell him what he knew. “He's going to talk,” he said.

Irene rolled her eyes and pushed the man's head down slightly. “He's probably going to lie through his teeth. I think he needs to be taught a lesson in respect.”

“Stop,” Sherlock said warningly. There were times her need to see him commit violence went too far, where she pushed him to the edge of what he was doing. So far he hadn't taken a life, even though she goaded him to. She wanted to see him be violent. Something about it turned her on, he knew that. He had seen it when he took care of the terrorists to save her life the first time. The time spent together on his mission had only fueled her need for it. He didn't want to escalate in this situation, though. “He's talking.”

Irene huffed out a breath and glared at Sherlock. “Fine,” she said. “Do it _your_ way.” She moved away from the man and went to the chair in the corner of the room, sitting down in it and crossing her legs. “Just make it quick.”

Sherlock bit his tongue. She really was the devil on his shoulder, he thought for a brief moment. Tonight he would get time to himself, he realized, because he wasn't giving her what she wanted. What _he_ wanted were answers, and it appeared as though he was going to get them with very little violence today. He considered that a good day, while he knew she probably viewed it as an unfulfilling one. He moved the only chair left in front of the man and sat down. “Start talking,” he said.

The man cast a glance at Irene before turning back to Sherlock. The information he had to give would help, but it wasn't enough. No single person had enough information to go after the bigger players in the game. After an hour the man's words tapered off. He leaned forward a bit, as much as he could. “She is a bad influence,” he said quietly. “You are on a mission. She will only derail it.”

“What did he just say?” she asked, uncrossing her legs and standing up.

“He said he hopes we do not succeed,” Sherlock said quietly. Truth be told he was beginning to think much the same thing about Irene, that asking for her help and having her lead him down this path had been a mistake. He stood up and looked at the man. “I will send someone here to get you later. How much later depends on how useful the information you gave me is.”

“You should just kill him,” Irene said as she came over to him. “One less spider on the web.”

“No. I'll only resort to that if there is no other option left,” Sherlock said, making sure the safety on his gun was on before tucking it into his waistband at the small of his back. “We're done here.”

“If you say so,” she said with a sigh. The two of them left the small basement room. “You know, you can just leave him there to rot. The world would be better off without him.”

“I may leave him here until we leave the city,” he said. “Our business here should be completed within twenty-four hours.”

“Who are you going to have come get him, his friends or the police?”

“The police,” he said. “Along with anyone else his information leads us to.”

“The police won't keep him, and then it will just be one more person who wants you dead when this is all over.”

“Do you want me to kill everyone we come across when they're no longer useful to us?” he asked, stopping in his tracks to look at her.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Frankly? Yes. I would feel safer if you weren't leaving enemies behind at every turn,” she said. Then she uncrossed them and held out her hand. “If you won't kill him I'll do it myself.”

“ _No,_ ” he said, putting emphasis on it this time. “We're going to do this my way, Irene. No bodies left in our wake if I can help it.”

“One day this 'let them all live' attitude is going to come back and bite you in the arse,” she said, pushing past him and walking at a fast clip. He followed, hopeful that she stayed silent. He was not really in the mood for any conversation that might transpire after the events here. They made their way to the ground floor of the abandoned building he had chosen. It was a bit of a walk to the dingy hotel rooms they had gotten. Even though she might come to his bed at night they always had separate rooms. She never stayed until morning, and he was actually grateful for that.

They made their way to the second floor and he stilled as he got around the corner. There was someone sitting outside his door. He tensed for a moment before the wave of familiarity washed over him, followed by a surge of anger directed not at the woman sitting there but at the man he knew must have sent her. How dare Mycroft involve her in this business more than she was already involved. He made his way to where she was sitting, moving slowly. “Molly,” he said softly when he got next to her.

She looked up, slightly surprised. She scrambled up to a standing position. “I can explain,” she said, casting a glance at Irene before turning back to him.

He held up a hand. “Mycroft sent you,” he said, and she nodded. He sighed. “He had no right. You're not safe helping me.”

“He thought I could be useful,” she said quietly. “I just want to help. I want to make sure you can come home when all of this is over.”

Irene made a rude noise. “And just what can you do?” she asked, looking at Molly.

Molly stood up a bit straighter, looking back at Irene. “I'm a doctor, for one. If either of you get injured I can take care of your injuries. And I'm sure I can be helpful in other ways.”

“He shouldn't have sent you,” Sherlock said. “I should accompany you to the airport and put you on a plane back to London. I did this all to keep you safe too, Molly.”

“But who's keeping you safe?” she asked, as she looked back at him.

“It's too dangerous,” he said quietly. “Please, go home.”

“No,” she said. “I'm here and I'm going to help. You're taking care of the problem Moriarty left behind, but who's taking care of you? Her?”

“In my own way,” she said with a smirk.

“Your brother is worried,” Molly said, her stance softening. “Please, Sherlock. Let me try and help.”

“I do not want your blood on my hands,” he said, shaking his head.

“If you send me home I'll just have Mycroft find you again and I'll come back. I can be stubborn, you know.” Irene scoffed, and she glared at the other woman. “You don't know the first thing about me.”

“I know enough.” She pushed past the two of them. “I'm going to my room. Don't expect a visit tonight, Sherlock. I'm not in the mood.” She moved to the room next to the one they were standing in front of, jammed her key card into its slot and then pushed her way into her room, closing the door behind her with some force.

Sherlock looked at Molly, who was blushing slightly. “Nothing I say will convince you to leave, will it?” he said with a defeated sigh.

“No. Please, Sherlock. If I become too much of a burden I promise I'll go home. You can put me on a flight yourself. Just let me try and help.” She hesitantly reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “We're just worried about you.”

“My brother has a strange way of showing he's worried, placing you in harm's way,” he said, looking down at her hand before moving his arm to get his key card out. “Have you gotten a place to sleep tonight?”

“No,” she said as she shook her head.

“Seeing as how I will not be having a late night visit you can share my bed tonight, if I actually get any sleep,” he said as he put the key card in the slot. The door unlocked and he opened the door as she knelt down to get her duffel bag. She followed him into the room and set her bag down on the floor. He moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. After a moment's hesitation she joined him. “How is everyone?” he asked quietly, looking at her.

She looked down at her hands. “John's a mess. He can't even say your name out loud, it still hurts too much. He throws himself into work and then goes to the pub at night to drink it all away. The few times I saw him he was just a shell of a man. He doesn't want much to do with any of us. Too many bad memories, I suppose.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. This hurt to hear, more than he had thought it would. The idea that his best friend in all the world was hurting so much that he was neglecting himself was painful. But at least he knew now. “And Mrs. Hudson?”

“Doing well enough, I suppose. We had tea every once in a while, tried to talk about things that didn't involve you. It generally didn't work out very well, so we would end up reminiscing. She misses you greatly. She looked at you like you were her son, you know.”

“I didn't know,” he said softly. “Did you see Lestrade?”

“I did. He nearly got demoted over the whole mess, but he managed to keep his job. He's shunted off to the side a lot of the time, though. Dimmock and the others get the challenging cases.” She looked over at him. “Despite everything, he believes in you. He doesn't think you did what Moriarty accused you of.”

“That's good to know.” He was quiet for a long moment. They were all in pain, the people he had saved. He had inflicted this pain on them, and he wasn't sure they would ever forgive him for that. Finally he sighed. “Are you tired?”

“A bit, yeah. It was a long flight.” She paused for a moment, then reached over and took his hand in hers. It had been a long time since he had felt a comforting gesture, and he savored it. “I promise I won't be a burden. I'll try my best to help but I'll also try and stay out of the way. I'm sure you have to do things you don't like to get the answers you need, and you don't need me interfering.”

“To be honest, I think Irene's influence might need to be tempered a bit,” he said with a sigh.

She hadn't let go of his hand yet, and after a moment she squeezed it. “Then I suppose that's a good enough reason for me to stay, to keep you from going too far down a road you don't want to go.”

“I suppose it is,” he said with a nod as he squeezed her hand back. “Get some sleep now, Molly. I have business to take care of that I would much prefer to do alone.”

“Be careful, all right?” she asked as he let go of her hand and stood up.

He nodded. “I will. I promise.” He made his way back to the door, listening to her stand up and move off the bed. He paused for a moment. “Molly?” he asked without turning around.

“Yes?” she said.

“Do you mind if we talk? I don't talk to Irene often about things not related to taking down the network. It would be nice to have something normal in the midst of all of this.”

“I can do that for you, Sherlock.”

“Thank you,” he said before opening the door. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him, lingering outside for a moment. This could only end badly, he thought to himself, but part of him was glad that she was there. He had felt pieces of himself slip away the longer he was gone, and maybe she could help bring some of those pieces back. He had to hope that picking up his life again was still an option at the end of it all, that he didn't scrub away the man he used to be, or else he wouldn't be able to do what he was doing. And with that final thought in his head he made his way back to the stairs. He had work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Irene and Molly did not get along at all, he realized soon after Molly joined them. Where violence aroused Irene it only made Molly concerned. The first true test of wills happened two weeks after Molly's arrival in Munich. They made their way to Prague and Sherlock found out who Moriarty's main contact was there. Once he got the man captured and alone he did the same thing he had done in Munich, the same thing he did everywhere: try and gather information. Both women accompanied him this time, and after some initial resistance Sherlock felt that he had to get his point across. He slugged the man in the face, then glanced at each woman. Irene's eyes had lit up while Molly had flinched. He knew then that they would both have very different reactions to what he needed to do.

This man was harder to break, and Sherlock was quite worried he would have to hurt the man more than he really wanted to when Molly moved away from where she had been standing. “May I try something?” she asked hesitantly.

Sherlock lowered his fist and nodded. “All right.”

She knelt down and picked up the bag she had carried in with her. She moved closer to the man, then opened the bag up and pulled out a small medical kit. Irene barked out a laugh the minute she saw it. “Well, isn't this lovely. You're going to undo all the damage he did.”

“Be quiet,” Sherlock said, watching Molly.

Molly moved over to the man and began to tend to his wounds. “It would go much easier if you would just tell him what he wants to know,” she said softly. She pulled out some gauze, then reached for a small bottle of antiseptic. She put some of the antiseptic on the gauze and began to clean the wound under his eye. The man flinched ever so slightly. “Do you have a family?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he nodded. “A wife and two daughters,” he said quietly.

“And you don't want them to be hurt, right?” she asked, finishing with that wound. He nodded again. “You're probably going to jail. I can't help that, I'm afraid. But if he listens to her you're going to be dead and they'll be left alone.” She nodded to Irene, who scowled at her. “If you tell him what you know you'll get to live, and this is probably the most banged up you'll be.” She reached into her pack again and got some butterfly bandages out. “And at least that way your daughters don't need to mourn their father.”

He waited for her to put the bandages on his face, and then he looked up. “You swear I will get out of this alive?” he asked.

She looked over at Sherlock, who nodded. “I promise.”

He looked back over at Sherlock, then cast a glance at Irene before turning back to him. Finally, he sighed. “I will tell you everything I know, then. Just promise you will let me live.”

“I will let you live,” Sherlock said, sitting down in the chair in front of him. Molly continued to clean and tend the man's wounds as he talked. The man had more helpful information than anyone else he had encountered so far, and by the end of it Sherlock had a name: Charles Augustus Magnussen. This man was the one he needed to target, needed to devote his time to finding. This was the man who was the real threat to the world. He had his hands in everything, possibly more than Moriarty ever had. By the time the man finished talking he was glad Molly had intervened. They left him handcuffed to the chair, Molly shifting her hold on her bag. “I was quite impressed there,” he said to her quietly.

She shrugged slightly. “Sometimes mercy is a good thing.”

“Mercy is going to get all three of us killed,” Irene said bitterly. “One of these days I'm going to just do it myself, get the information and take care of the threat.”

“No, you won't,” Sherlock said, stopping and glaring at her. “If you do anything without me there I'll make sure you regret it.”

“Is that a threat, Sherlock?” she asked, invading his personal space and standing toe to toe with him.

He looked down at her. “Yes.”

They stood that way for a few seconds before Molly cleared her throat. “We should probably get going,” she said nervously. “Try and figure out what to do next.”

“Yes, we should,” he murmured, still staring down at Irene, who looked back at him defiantly.

“Now might be good,” Molly said more insistently.

He finally pulled his gaze away from Irene and looked over at Molly. “Of course.” He led the way out of where they had taken the man, with Molly right behind him and Irene behind her. There was silence as they walked out towards the busy part of town. Finally, ten blocks from where they had been, Sherlock hailed them a cab. One pulled to the side and he opened the door. Molly got in, but Irene looked at him. “Coming?” he asked.

“I'll get my own,” she snapped, moving forward and beginning to hail her own cab.

After a moment he got into the cab and gave the driver the address of their hotel. He leaned back into the seat and shut his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Molly remained quiet, but after a moment she reached over and took his hand in hers. She did that often, he'd found. She found some small way to comfort him when he needed it most. He held onto it tightly for a moment. “I regret asking for her help,” he said finally.

“You needed it at the time,” she said quietly. “And I think it's too late to tell her you don't need it anymore. I don't think you want her as an enemy.”

“Do you think she's that dangerous?” he asked, turning to look at her and opening his eyes.

She nodded. “There's a reason there's a saying about scorned women. I honestly don't think there's anything more dangerous. If you anger her too much it may cost you a great deal more than you think.”

He sighed. “She keeps trying to get me to kill. I don't know how to get her to stop.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” she asked.

“Yes, when I rescued her from terrorists,” he said. “I'm starting to regret ever doing that, even if it was my fault she ended up there in the first place. My life might have been harder now, but at the same time I wouldn't be caught between what she wants me to do and the limits I want to set every time I have to get information.”

She shifted her hold on his hand, threading her fingers through his. “I hope she just decides to leave on her own. I'm actually a bit frightened of her, to be honest. Violence excites her.”

“It gets her aroused,” he said with a slight shrug. He could see her blush and he regretted the conversation taking this turn. “We can talk about something else, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

She was quiet. “It does, but I have to admit I'm curious about something.”

He was quiet. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you two start having that type of relationship? In all the years I've known you you've never showed that that interests you. I mean, at least never towards me. I admit I don't know how you've been towards other women.”

He studied her. He supposed this could be a roundabout way of asking what he saw in Irene that he didn't see in her, but he thought it might be more than that. He thought about it for a moment. “She is a hard woman to say no to, when it comes to that,” he said finally. “But I think that type of interaction between us may be finished. I'm not giving her what she wants, and I think she believes withholding sexual contact is punishment for me.”

“Is it?” she asked, and he could see her blush had deepened.

He shook his head. “No, it isn't. Actually, it's a relief. I don't get much pleasure from the act. I'm thankful she leaves when she's gotten what she's wanted from me.” She glanced down and he could tell she was getting uncomfortable. “Let's change the subject.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. She composed herself, then looked at him. “Do you know anything about the man he told you about?”

“Magnussen?” he asked, and she nodded. “No. That was the first time I had heard his name mentioned. But others may have talked about him in roundabout ways. I need to go over everything I have learned since I began to do this, see what makes more sense now that I have the information I have now.”

“I'll help you sort it out, if you want,” she said. “I can do that for you.”

“I would appreciate it,” he said, giving her a small smile. She gave him one in return, and when he squeezed her hand it got wider. He settled back into his seat more, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence. When the cab arrived he let go of her hand and paid the driver and they both got out. They made their way to their rooms. “We should go to your room, just in case I'm wrong about her paying me a visit tonight.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. She pulled her key out of her bag and put it in the lock, opening the door. The sun was setting so the room was shadowed, and he watched her turn on the light. She set her bag down on the desk and made her way to the bed, sitting down and taking her shoes off. She looked over at him. “Do you want to sit down?”

He shook his head. “I think it will be easier for me to think if I pace.” He pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped one out before pausing. He glanced over to her and she nodded. He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it, inhaling deeply. “Before you would have tried to talk me out of having one of these,” he said as he watched her lay down on the bed.

“I would have made you watch me autopsy someone who died of lung cancer,” she said with a slight smile. “And if that didn't convince you I'd try something else.”

“And now?” he asked.

“I'd rather have you smoke a fag than do other things,” she said as her smile faltered slightly. “If it helps relieve your stress I suppose you can quit when you get back home.”

“That's if I get back home,” he said quietly before taking a drag off his cigarette, exhaling the smoke after keeping it in a moment.

“You will,” she said. “You might be very different than you were when you left, but you'll make it home. We both will, all right?”

He moved over towards her slightly. “I just want to make sure you get home. I don't care what happens to me when this is all over.”

“I want you to come home with me,” she said, sitting up more. “That's the whole reason I'm here, remember? To make sure you come home.”

“And I still think it's a mistake, even if I'm glad you're here. I feel as though I need you here, to keep me from going too far. I find that when you are here I feel...better. More confidant I will get out of this mess with some semblance of the man I used to be intact. I worried one day Irene might push me too far, but with you here I find I worry less that that day will come.”

“I'll make sure neither of us do anything that will change us too much,” she said gently as she got up. She moved closer to him, and he set his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. Just as Irene had done earlier she invaded his personal space, but instead of being confrontational she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest. After a moment he embraced her back, shutting his eyes. If he really wanted to be truthful with himself, this was the real reason he was glad Molly was there. She was comfort, she was warmth, she was peace. She was hope, he realized. And as he held her close, he realized he sorely needed this. After quite a few moments she lifted her head up and looked at him, giving him a small smile. “You looked like you needed that.”

“I did,” he said with a nod as she let go. Reluctantly he did the same, and he watched her move back to the bed. He went and picked his cigarette back up, flicking it to get rid of the ash at the end of it. Finally he brought it back to his lips and inhaled as she got comfortable. “So. Let me start from what I learned from the first person in Moriarty's network.” She nodded and he began to talk. It was not a one-sided set of ramblings; she asked questions and brought up points he had neglected to think about, causing him to go back and carefully examine every bit of information he had learned so far. They talked for hours and hours, late into the night. It was only when it looked as though she could barely keep her eyes open that he stopped. “You should get some rest,” he said finally.

“I can do that later,” she said just before she yawned again.

He gave her a small smile. “You can barely keep your eyes open, Molly.”

“Well, we're not done yet,” she said.

“It can keep until morning.” He moved to the door. “I'll let you sleep in a bit before we pick this back up.”

“Sherlock?” she asked as he put his hand on the knob.

“Yes?” he asked, pausing.

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” she asked.

“I might. I'm not sure yet.”

“You should try and get some sleep too, you know. You can't run yourself into the ground. It's not healthy.” She yawned again as she said the last bit.

“I'll try and get some rest.” He turned to look at her. “Good night, Molly.”

“Good night, Sherlock,” she said as her eyes fluttered closed. He got the feeling she would be falling asleep on top of the covers until it got too cold.

He watched her for a moment, then turned back to the door and let himself out of her room. He went to the room next door and pulled out his key, letting himself in. He stripped out of his clothes and changed into something to sleep in before going to the bed and laying down. He didn't know if he would actually sleep, but he could at least try. He shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind and, thankfully, sleep overtook him shortly thereafter. He slept for quite some time before he heard a knock on his door. He pulled his wrist to him and glanced at his watch. Nearly six hours had passed, and he pulled himself out of bed. He went to the door and saw Molly standing there. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I don't think Irene came back last night,” she said. “She's made a lot of noise in her room early in the morning just to irritate me, but there's no sounds coming from her room and it's already ten in the morning.”

He frowned. “We should find out.” He grabbed his key off the desk and made his way to Irene's room. He knocked on the door. “Irene?” He waited but there was no answer. He knocked again, a bit louder this time. “Irene, if you're there, open up.”

Molly was about to say something when they heard the lift door open. They both turned and saw Irene coming towards them. “Checking up on me? How cute,” she said quietly.

Sherlock sorely wanted to ask her where she had been, but he decided against it. “Molly and I talked about things last night.”

“I bet you did,” she murmured. Then she stopped and looked at them, sneering at Molly slightly. “Just what did you discuss, hmm?”

“What the new information we got last night means in context to what we already knew,” he replied.

Whatever it was Irene was expecting him to say it wasn't that. The sneer dropped off her face. “Does it make more sense now?” she asked.

“Quite a bit of it,” he said with a nod. “We can go over it again if you're willing to listen.”

“After I get some rest,” she said, moving towards her door. She dug her key out of her purse. “It's been a long night.” 

“You didn't get any rest?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Since you weren't in your room last night I decided to keep myself occupied elsewhere,” she said with a shrug. “Don't worry, I didn't do anything to put your mission in jeopardy. But I have needs that haven't been met lately. An itch to scratch, I suppose. And last night I scratched it.” She opened her door and looked at them. “We can talk in a few hours.”

“All right,” he said with a nod. They both watched Irene go into her room, shutting the door behind her. Then he turned to Molly, then nodded towards his room. She followed and he let them both in. “I get the feeling she is not being entirely honest,” he said once he shut the door.

“I kind of got the same feeling,” she replied. She wrapped her arms around herself. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to keep her nice and close,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I need to let things go back to how they were before you arrived, as much as I don't want to.”

She made a slight face, then sighed. “I'll try and be as unobtrusive as possible. Just...don't do anything you'll regret, all right?”

“I'll try not to,” he said with a nod. “And even if I am letting things go back to how they had been, if you get too unsettled by something, tell me. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Then make sure I don't have the room next to you,” she said quietly.

He understood her meaning. He hated that it had to come to this, but she had been right the day before. Irene could be a very dangerous enemy if she decided to turn on them. He needed to keep Irene as close as he could until she tired of him and left on her own accord. “I was talking more about the violence.”

“Oh,” she said, flushing slightly.

“But I'll make sure you stay across the hall from me,” he said.

She looked at him. “Thank you. I suppose I should go back to my room now, in case she changes her mind about being alone.”

“That might be best.” He watched her drop her arms as she got to the door and she let herself out. He watched the door shut behind her and sighed. This was a complication he did not need. And he got the feeling it was only going to get worse before there was any relief in sight.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next two months both Sherlock and Molly were careful. There was an uneasy truce between the three of them, because Irene was getting almost exactly what she wanted. Sherlock was just violent enough to sate her but not violent enough to make Molly entirely uncomfortable. The times Molly stopped him from doing anything truly horrific were good days, because Irene would leave him alone. But feeling as though there was a constant need to keep up pretenses wore on both of them greatly. Molly became quiet and withdrawn, and she did not always accompany Sherlock and Irene when he went to get information. Sherlock worried that this was affecting her too much, that he should just send her home and keep her safe.

That was before the fourth night in Moscow, though. It was not safe to be there, they all knew that. The country was too volatile at the moment. But the last bit of information said that something big was happening there, and he felt he might have a chance to go after someone higher up on the food chain. But it all went horribly wrong. As he had every time he went to get the person who could give him more information he went alone, but there were too many people, and he ended up getting badly hurt. He wasn't sure he would make it back to where they were staying, but he made it to Molly's room. He knocked on the door weakly, and slumped against the wall, trying his best not to bleed all over the floor.

Molly opened the door, dressed in her pyjamas, and the minute she saw him her eyes went wide and she brought her hands up to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said in a shocked tone of voice.

“I need to get patched up enough so we can leave the city,” he said. “It's not safe to stay here.”

“Come in here,” she said, going over to him. He leaned against her, resting most of his weight on her. He was trying not to get blood on her clothing but he was fairly sure he wasn't successful, and that was confirmed once she maneuvered him to the washroom and pulled away from him, leading him to the loo to sit down. There was blood on her shirt now. “What happened?”

“I got shot,” he said. “Twice. The bullet that hit me in the side went through, but there's a bullet lodged in my thigh.”

She nodded, leaving him alone for a moment. He knew she had two medical cases, the one she carried in her bag when he went to go interrogate people and a larger one she had in the suitcase she had bought once she had acquired the kit. She brought the larger kit in and set it on the sink, opening it up. “You've lost a lot of blood. Even if I get you patched up, you need to rest.”

“Not here,” he said, shaking his head. “It's not safe. Please, Molly. Just get me to the point I can walk on my own. I can't go to a hospital or else I'll be dead and we both know that. You have to do the best you can.”

“Sherlock, you've lost a lot of blood. If you don't get some of it back you could die. You _have_ to rest and let me try and do a transfusion.”

He was quiet. “Fine. Do what you need to do.”

She nodded and looked at him as he slumped back against the loo. “Where is your lighter? I need to sterilize my equipment.”

With great pain he reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, handing it to her. She looked through her kit and pulled items out, setting them in the open lid of her kit. “You have to sit up straight,” she said. “And strip down. I need your shirt and trousers off.”

“I don't know if I can get them off myself,” he said, standing up. Then his leg promptly buckled and she moved away from the kit to help steady him.

“I should really be doing this on a bed or a table,” she said with a frown. She looked around and then moved him to the wall. “Stand against that, as straight as you can, so I can get you stripped down.” He put his back to the wall and watched her lift up his shirt. She winced when she saw the bullet hole in his side. She pulled his shirt farther up and he helped as best as he could by lifting his arms up. She got the shirt off and tossed it to the side, then went to unbutton his trousers. Once she got them unbuttoned she lowered the zipper and pushed them off his hips, and he stepped out of them with some difficulty. “Can you stand up?”

“I don't know,” he said. He was feeling lightheaded, and he knew this wasn't a good thing.

“We're not staying till morning, right?” He nodded. “Then go lie down on the bed. I can do it better from there. Do you need help?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

She wormed her way under his arm and put an arm around his waist, guiding him out of the washroom. “I don't know if there's any internal damage,” she said as she got him to the bed. “I could be doing you more harm than good, Sherlock. I don't know if I can fix you up well enough.”

“I have faith you can,” he said quietly as he laid down upon the bed. She left him and went back to the kit, bringing it out still opened. She set it on the nightstand and then began sterilizing her instruments. “I feel faint.”

“Talk to me, Sherlock. Keep talking to me,” she said as she continued to prepare things. “If you go to sleep I don't know if you'll wake up.”

“I didn't lose that much blood,” he said.

“You lost enough.” She finished sterilizing the equipment she was going to use. “I'm going to get the bullet out of your thigh first, then stitch up the wound in your abdomen. Then I'm going to have you turn over and I'll stitch up the other side. Just promise me you won't fall asleep.”

“I promise.”

“I'm sorry I don't have anything for the pain,” she said as she picked up her scalpel. She moved towards his leg and looked at the wound. Then she made a slight incision on either side of the wound to open it up more. Sherlock hissed at the pain. “You're supposed to be talking to me.”

“Do you think I'm a monster?” he asked quietly.

“What? I mean, why would you think I think that?” she asked, setting down the scalpel and picking up her tweezers.

“Did you ever imagine me doing things like this? Torturing men for information, committing the same acts of violence that I'm trying to prevent? Killing someone?”

“You haven't killed anyone yet,” she pointed out, putting the tweezers into the wound and trying to grab the bullet.

“But I've killed before, and you know that,” he said. “So knowing what you know, do you think I'm a monster?”

“No, Sherlock, I don't. Is that how you see yourself?” she asked as she finally got a hold of the bullet. She pulled it out of the wound and set it on the nightstand.

“Yes. When I am alone, I look at my life and the decisions I've made and the things I've done and I see a monster staring back at me. And I worry it will only get worse, until I'm completely unrecognizable when compared to my old self.” He watched her go back to her kit to get the material for the stitches. “I suppose I'm asking if you're afraid of me.”

“Of you? No, I'm not. You can alarm me sometimes, but I'm not fearful.” She began to set things up to stitch him up. “I'm afraid of what Irene can do, though. The lengths she'll go to to get you to do what she wants frightens me. She's trying to manipulate you and right now you have to let her. I'm not sure how much longer either of us can keep this up, though.”

“I worry it will not be long until I deny her and she snaps,” he said with a sigh.

“I worry about the same thing.” She looked over at him. “This is going to hurt, but I need to concentrate. So keep talking to me but don't ask me questions you want answers to. I can hurt you if I don't do this right.”

“I suppose there really is a difference between medical doctors and pathologists,” he mused.

“Yes. It's why I prefer doing this on dead bodies. Now talk, but stop talking _to_ me.”

He nodded slightly and then he began to talk. He picked things she could drown out: results of scientific experiments he had run what felt like ages ago, a sharp string of profanity every once in a while when it got painful, poetry he had been forced to memorize that never quite left him. She was being methodical in checking the damage done by the bullets, and he appreciated it. Finally she had him roll over and move to the other side of the bed, and she went to work on stitching up the exit wound. He was starting to get sleepy, and he knew this was not a good sign, so he kept talking as best he could. Finally she finished. “Now what?”

“I'm going to try and get you some blood,” she said.

“I changed my mind. We have to leave,” he said, sitting up.

She gently pushed him back down. “You lost way too much blood. If you go to sleep you might not wake up.”

“How are you going to get the blood?”

“You can get anything on the black market,” she said evasively as she moved him and her pillows to prop him up slightly. “For the right price, at least. I made a few inquiries when I got here for more supplies. I can get blood and an IV. What's your blood type?”

“A positive,” he said.

“I'm going to make some calls and then I'm going to go get it, all right? As much as I hate to do it, I'll have Irene come in here and make sure you stay awake. Then I'll give you a blood transfusion, or at least I'll try to. It's been a very long time since I've had to do one of those.” She moved away from him and reached for her phone.

“Molly,” he said quietly as she raised the phone to her ear.

“Yes?” she asked, looking at him.

“If this doesn't work, if this fails, promise me you'll go home and forget you ever met me. Promise me you'll go back to St. Bart's and be there for my friends and live a better life than the one I'm making you live right now.”

“You aren't going to die,” she said adamantly. “I won't let you.” She moved away from him and began speaking in flawless Russian, something that surprised him greatly. He could understand bits and pieces of what she was saying, but his own grasp of the language paled in comparison to hers. When she hung up she looked at him. “It will be ready in ten minutes. Just keep talking to me.”

“You speak Russian,” he said.

“My Aunt Natasha came from Moscow,” she said. “She wanted to learn English and I was fascinated by her language. We taught each other. It worked out fairly well for both of us.” She gave him a smile. “It's an interesting language to learn. Do you know any languages?”

“Quite a few,” he said. “Mandarin and Cantonese, Japanese, Arabic, French and Italian. If you're willing to teach me I would like to add Russian.”

“I'd love to hear you speak French,” she said. “When you get better you can speak to me in French, try and sweep me off my feet.”

He knew she was joking as she said it, but the idea of doing just that, of trying to pursue her in that way, it was a strong urge. His thoughts had veered from looking at Molly as a friend to finding he wanted more with her. But he brushed it aside most of the time because as long as he had his dalliance with Irene it couldn't happen. Irene wouldn't allow him to be shared; he would have to be hers and only hers. He didn't want that anymore, and yet he was trapped by the decisions he had made before Molly became a part of all this. “I can say some things now, if you would like.”

She nodded, reaching over and brushing the few curls that had grown back away from his forehead. “All right. Tell me something pretty in French.”

“Tu as de très beaux yeux,” he said quietly. “Est-ce que tu es aussi doux que tes yeux?”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said. “Are you as sweet as your eyes are?”

She smiled at him. “That is a very nice compliment,” she replied.

He shut his eyes for a moment. “Je vis d'amour et d'eau douce,” he said finally. “It's a common romantic phrase which roughly means 'I live on love and fresh water.'”

“If someone said that to me I would probably swoon.”

He opened up his eyes and saw she was still smiling. It was getting hard to think because he felt lightheaded and he was trying so very hard not to go to sleep. “Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi?” he said finally.

“And what does that mean, Sherlock?” she asked.

“What would I do without you,” he said.

“Let's hope you don't have to find out,” she said. She was quiet for a moment. “I need to go get Irene. Promise me you won't fall asleep, all right? Fight to stay awake.”

He nodded slightly. “I promise.”

She hesitated a moment, then leaned over and kissed his forehead gently before getting off the bed and getting her room key. She went to her door and opened it, stepping out. A short time later her door opened again and both women came in. Irene did not have the same shocked expression that Molly had had upon seeing him. Molly looked over at Irene. “Make sure he stays awake,” she said. “If he dies because you let him I'll hurt you.”

Irene blinked slightly. Molly never threatened, he knew that. She was dead serious right now, though. “I'll keep him awake,” she said quietly.

“Good.” She went to her bag and grabbed some clothing. “I'm going to change and I'll be back as soon as I can.” She went back into the washroom and was in there for a few moments, and then she came back out and sat down on the other edge of the bed from Sherlock, putting on her shoes that had been on that side. Then she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door one more time.

Irene looked at him. “Did you kill any of them?”

“No,” he said quietly. He really didn't want to talk to her right now.

“More's the pity.” She went and sat over in the chair. “I suppose I need to keep you talking. She might actually harm me if I accidentally let you die.”

“I think she'd kill you,” he said simply.

She tilted her head slightly. “She just might.” She looked at him intently. “You're important to her.”

“Yes. And she is important to me.”

“You know keeping her with us is just going to damage her, right? Send her back home once she's gotten you set to rights. You don't need her.”

“If she wasn't here now I would be dead,” he pointed out.

“But after this. You can be more careful. After all, you don't want to hurt her, right?” He looked away for a moment. “Ah,” she said knowingly.

“Ah what?” he asked, looking back at her and glaring.

“You're being selfish. She gives you something that I don't, and you don't want to lose it.” Irene gave him a grim smile. “I could do it, you know. Give you what she gives you. Give you anything you want.”

“We don't have that type of relationship.”

“Are you sleeping with her as well?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Then her eyes widened. “Oh my God, are you falling in love with her?”

“She is my friend,” he replied with emphasis. “You and I, we will never be friends. We both know this.”

“And here I thought we were close,” she said with a slight pout. He felt for sure that it was simply for show. “You're just going to ruin her life if you keep her here, and you know it. One day something will happen and she'll get hurt and you won't be able to stop it.” 

“Is that a threat?” he asked, sitting up. He regretted it an instant later and he crashed back into the pillows.

“No, it's simply a fact. Trust me, if I issued a threat you would know it.” She looked away from him. “Let's find something else to chat about, shall we? I'm done with this topic.”

“Fine.” He let her talk about whatever she felt like, offering up little in the way of responses. He was fighting hard to stay awake, and trying to sit up had hurt him more than he would have liked. Finally, after what felt like ages the door opened up again. Molly came in, carrying a small bag with her. “Did you get it?”

She nodded. “I might not be able to let you rest as long as I would like. It's very dangerous out there at the moment. The man I got this from was very skittish.”

“He probably knows exactly why you need it,” Irene said.

Molly nodded. “I'm pretty sure that's the case. But Sherlock needs this transfusion.” She brought the bag over to the bed and began setting things up. It took her some time, but finally she had the IV set up. She held the blood bag above her head. “Once it's empty then we should leave. Irene, his trousers are in the washroom. Get his key out and get his things and bring them here. Then get your own. As soon as we can we need to leave.”

Irene nodded and got out of her seat. “All right.”

“We can leave it all,” he said.

“No, we can't. It could get traced back to us. And you need clothes that don't have blood on them and bullet holes in them,” Molly said, shaking her head. “For once, let me make the decisions, all right?”

“All right,” he said with a slight nod.

“You can rest a bit now, Sherlock. I might be able to give you an hour. Two at most. But that's all.”

He nodded and shut his eyes, listening to movement in the room and the door opening and closing again. He had to trust that Molly would save him. He had to trust her to take care of them tonight. And as he slipped into unconsciousness he felt at peace with the decision to let her take charge. She would keep them all safe until she took her dying breath. He just hoped it didn't come to that.


	4. Chapter 4

He survived his wounds, and Molly managed to get them out of Moscow undetected. He had lost his chance to get information, and he knew he needed to go back and get more from somewhere. But for a week afterward Molly refused to let him do much of anything. And to be honest, she was right in making him rest. He had the feeling he had come very close to dying. Irene made noises that she was being overly cautious, but Molly told her if she didn't back off she would regret it, and having another threat issued seemed to get Irene to back down. Finally, after a week, she deemed him okay to go back to doing what he needed to do.

In the end he reached out to his brother. He didn't tell Mycroft he had nearly died, but he was fairly sure his brother probably knew; whether it was because Molly told him or his brother was still keeping a watchful eye over him he didn't know, but based on their initial conversation that was what he surmised. He was still angry at Mycroft for involving Molly in all of this, but he was desperate for help, and Mycroft was the only person he knew with the connections he needed. It took his brother some time, but after two weeks he said that there was another major event coming up in San Diego in a weeks’ time. Sherlock got the information and they made their way to San Diego, arriving three days after he talked to his brother.

Irene had said she was going to stay in her room that evening and so Sherlock and Molly went to find something to eat. There was an overabundance of restaurants and bars in the Gaslamp Quarter, but Molly saw one that reminded her of the pubs at home so they went inside. It had been nice to have a piece of home found so far away, and after a relaxing meal and a pint each they made their way back to the hotel where they were staying. Molly went to her door, and then hesitated with her hand above the handle. “Do you want some company tonight?” she asked, turning to look at him.

He nodded slowly. “That would be nice. We can go to your room.”

He joined her at her door as she put her key card into the slot and opened her door. She had the room that faced the harbor, and there was a brilliant sunset on the other side of her balcony. She looked over at him and smiled. “That's very beautiful, isn't it?” she asked as she took off her shoes and socks, leaving them by her bed.

“It is, I suppose,” he said. “I never really took the time to appreciate things like that.”

“Do you want to go out there and watch until the sun sets?” she asked.

“I would like that.” She made her way to the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony. She opened it and the two of them stepped outside. It was chilly outside, but after being in the cold and snow in Europe for so long he found he savored the warmth here. It was a nice change of pace, at the very least. “It's a shame I can't have a cigarette,” he said.

“You can always go downstairs,” she said with a slight chuckle, leaning her forearms on the balcony. “Go take a walk around the block.”

“But then I wouldn't have your company, and I know you dislike it when I smoke around you,” he said, giving her a grin. “I'm trying to be considerate.”

“I know.” She tilted her head slightly. “You know, when it's just the two of us and we're being quiet, I can almost imagine everything's normal. That we're just traveling around, seeing sights all over the world. It doesn't last long, but it's nice to pretend.”

He grew quiet, mimicking her stance and turning his attention to the harbor. “You deserve to be doing all this traveling for fun, not because you're trying to save me.”

“Yes, but would you be with me?” she asked.

He thought about it for a few minutes. “No, probably not. If I hadn't had to jump off the roof I don't think we would be anywhere near as close as we are. I would have continued to treat you poorly and you would have let me, and we never would have become friends.”

“So we're friends?” she asked.

“I like to think we are,” he said with a nod. “Do you consider us to be friends?”

“I do,” she said. “But you're right. If things had kept going on the way they had I would have kept my silly little crush and let you walk all over me.”

“What did you ever see in me in the first place?” he asked, turning to face her again.

If she realized he was looking at her she didn't turn to face him. He watched her think, her brow furrowing slightly. She chewed on her lip slightly before she spoke. “I think you're incredibly sexy. And it's not just because you're attractive. You have this...I don't know. You have this sense about you that you have power. It's incredibly appealing. And I've always liked men who are intelligent, and you're the smartest person I know.”

“But this has changed over the years, hasn't it?” he asked, surprised she had used present tense as opposed to past tense when she spoke.

“A bit, but not much. I still find you attractive. And now that I know you better I find you're a good man on top of it all, not as cold and distant as you used to be. Even though the circumstances are horrible and you have to do terrible things you're a good man at heart.” She finally turned to face him. “I suppose it sounds silly.”

“No, it doesn't,” he said, shaking his head. “You might be the only person in the world who thinks I'm a good man, though.”

“I don't think I am. I think John knows it, too. And Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade as well. They're all your friends. They wouldn't be your friends if they didn't think there was something good inside you.” She moved a bit closer to him. “When you get home you can ask them yourself, hear it straight from them.”

“I just might.” He inched closer to her as the sun began to dip below the horizon. “I think highly of you, you know.”

“You told me that at the hospital,” she said with a smile. “Before you had to jump.”

“But it's more true now,” he said. “Do you remember what you told me, about seeing I was sad when John wasn't around?”

She nodded. “I remember.”

“I make you just as sad,” he said. “But you're strong. You bear it well, and you keep helping me. You are my anchor, I suppose. Without you I would be adrift.”

“That might be one of the nicest things you've ever said to me,” she said thoughtfully. “But you're wrong on one count.”

“Oh?”

“You don't make me sad,” she said as she moved over towards him more. After a moment she reached over and grasped his hand. “I mean, there are times I don't like what you have to do, and there's times I wish this was all over and we were able to go home again, but you don't _make_ me sad. I'm just worried.”

“I will try not to worry you as much,” he said softly.

“It's going to happen regardless,” she said with a slight shrug. “Until we get home again I'm going to worry. Or at least as long as Irene is around.”

He sighed. “I still hope she will tire of me. I don't know how much longer I can keep up pretenses.”

“I hope she does too, but I don't think that will happen. We won't get that lucky.”

“I know.” He shifted hold of her hand so he could lace his fingers between hers. “When I was waiting for you to come back into the room in Moscow, the night I was shot, she and I talked. She told me to send you home, that she could give me what I got from you. And then she accused me of falling in love with you.”

“And you told her she was off her rocker, right?” she said.

He was quiet for a moment. “I told her we were friends, you and I. I told her she and I would never be friends. But she might have been on the mark in her guess.”

She looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?” she asked, surprised.

“I don't know if it's love. I mean, I think it could be. I don't know for sure because I'm fairly sure I've never been in love before. But the more I spend time with you, the more I want to ignore her and just be with you. I have thoughts towards you I have not had towards anyone in a very long time. And that's part of the reason I don't send you home. I worry that if I ask you to wait for me you won't, that you will forget about me. Or worse, that I won't return and I'll leave you waiting. I want you here, even if I can't have the type of relationship with you that I want.”

She pulled her hand away from his and he hung his head, worried he had said too much, that he had ruined everything, but after a moment she turned to face him and she framed his face in her hands. He looked at her intently. “I still fancy you, Sherlock. I never stopped.”

He settled his hands at her waist, one on either side. “If I sent you home, would you wait for me?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But I'd much rather stay with you and make sure you get to come home. Make sure that we could have a future together when this is all over.”

“I find I want you to stay as well,” he murmured as she stepped closer to him.

“Then I'll stay,” she said. She leaned in as he lowered his head slightly, and he kissed her softly. That was one thing Irene never did, and he wouldn't have allowed her to. But he wanted this from Molly, and as she deepened the kiss and he pulled her closer he could tell she wanted this just as badly. She pulled her hands away from his face and put her arms around his neck, pressing as close to him as she could. They stayed this way for some time until she pulled away, taking deep breaths. He leaned his forehead against hers. “It can't go any further than that,” she said quietly. “You and I both know that.”

“I know,” he said, running a hand up and down her back. “Irene won't share me with anyone, especially you.”

“So we should stop. We should leave it at that,” she said, pulling a hand back to caress his face.

He didn't let her go. “We should.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then she kissed him again. There was passion in this kiss, and he knew that even though they both knew they shouldn't be doing this, not now, this is what they both wanted. As the sun sank behind the ocean and the sky darkened he kissed her back hungrily, as though he wouldn't be able to get enough of her. She clung to him, pressing herself as close as she could again. He savored the feel of her and after a moment he turned them and began backing her back into the room.

It was only when they were inside again that she pulled away. “We can't do this,” she said, moving away from him, putting space between them. “I want to. I want to so bad it hurts. But if she finds out there will be hell to pay.”

He ran a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes. “What if I tell you I don't care?” he asked quietly.

“She'll find a way to hurt you for it,” Molly said quietly. “Or me. And I don't want her to hurt either of us. Sherlock...I don't want to lose you.”

He sighed and hung his head. “I should leave. It's not a good idea if we're alone together.”

“No, it's not,” she said. “We'll only do something we'll regret later.”

“I wouldn't regret it,” he said adamantly. “If we were intimate I would not regret it, even if Irene finds a way to try and hurt me later.”

“But what if she hurts me?” she asked. “You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if that happened.”

“I'll keep you safe,” he said, moving towards her again. “I promise, I will keep you safe.”

She shut her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. He stopped short, looking at her, watching as she thought about things. He could see emotions at war across her face, and after what seemed like forever she opened her eyes. “One night,” she said finally.

“Pardon?” he asked, surprised.

She looked at him intently. “I will give you tonight. But after that nothing else can happen, not while she's here. All right?”

He nodded. He moved towards her again and stopped in front of her, reaching for her. She placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him. “All right,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her again, and he could feel her melt against him as she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. If all he got was tonight he wanted to savor it. After a few moments he moved his hands to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up slightly. She pulled away from the kiss to let him pull it up over her head. Then she reached for the bottom of his shirt and moved it up. He took that as the hint it was and pulled his own shirt over his head before pulling her close again. “You are quite warm,” he murmured, running a hand up and down her bare back.

“So are you,” she said softly. She flattened her hands on his chest, then slid them up to his shoulders and finally framed his face in her hands again. “Make tonight count.”

He nodded again and then kissed her before maneuvering them towards the bed. The backs of her knees hit the bed and she faltered slightly but he steadied her, keeping her close for a moment. Then he moved his hand back up her back to the clasp of her bra and he undid it quickly. He stepped back a step so there was space between them, and she lowered her arms to get her bra off. She tossed it to the side and stepped closer to him. When her bare breasts brushed against his chest he felt his gut clench slightly in anticipation. This never happened when he was with Irene, where he actually felt like he needed it, but tonight he knew that was the case with Molly. He kissed her for a few more moments before he pulled away. “What do you want tonight?” he asked quietly.

“I just want you,” she said, sliding a hand up to caress his cheek. “However I can get you.”

He nodded and kissed her again, a slow and searching kiss. He had some time tonight. He would take his time with her because she deserved it. After a few more minutes he began to lower her onto the bed, and she pulled away from the kiss to move further up on it. He joined her after a moment, but he did not kiss her again. He knew neither of them could leave marks tonight, or else it would be known what they did, but when he pressed a kiss to her neck he felt a slight shudder go through her, and he grazed her skin with his teeth slightly. She swallowed a moan as she moved her hands to his shoulders, letting them rest there.

He made his way lower, trying to savor as much of her as he could. He made his way to her breasts and kissed them softly before moving to one side and biting her lightly. She moaned low in her throat and arched up in response, gripping his shoulders tightly, not quite digging her nails into his flesh. He moved over to the other breast and repeated his actions, and when he lifted his head up to look at her he saw she had her head tilted back and her eyes shut. He grinned slightly as he put his lips back to her skin, making his way down to her naval. “Lift up your hips,” he said after a moment.

She complied, and he undid the button and zipper on her denim trousers, then reached for the waistband of them. He pulled them off of her hips, then moved away to get them off her legs, leaving her in just her knickers. Then, before she lowered her hips back onto the bed he slowly removed those as well, leaving her completely naked on the bed. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh and then made his way up higher. Irene forced him to do this to her, forced him to submit, and he had loathed it. But tonight he found he wanted to please Molly. If she could only have tonight he wanted to make it memorable for her, something she could keep close when they had to be apart.

He pressed his lips against her core and she gasped in surprise. He began to tease her with his tongue before slowly adding first one finger, then two, inserting them inside her to build a rhythm. She was writhing as he continued his ministrations, as though she needed some friction in order to get her release. He could feel her bunch up the comforter and pull it up slightly as her breathing became more labored. She was close to release, he could tell. He finally rubbed her clit and he felt her tighten around his fingers. He pulled away from her when he felt her relax. “That was...” she said, panting to catch her breath. “That was fantastic.”

He looked at her and saw she looked completely sated. “Do you want more?” he asked. He watched her nod, opening her eyes and crooking a finger at him. He quickly shed the rest of his clothing and joined her back on the bed, covering her with his own body. He kissed her again, and she moved her hands to his shoulders. After a moment he shifted slightly, and she spread her legs more to accommodate him. He positioned himself and then slowly entered her, taking his time. She gasped, and he was almost worried he was too large, but she shifted slightly to get into a better position. When he was all the way in he began to pull out, and then moved back inside her. She tightened her hold on his shoulders and he took that as a sign he didn't need to move so slowly. He began to work into a faster rhythm, and she held onto him, taking everything he was giving her. He could start to feel tension build in her again, and this only spurred him on. And then she climaxed and after one last thrust he came as well.

They stayed locked in this position for a time as they caught their breath, and after a few minutes she moved her hand to his face and cupped his cheek in her hand. He looked down at her and saw she had a smile on her face before he leaned in and kissed her again. This kiss was soft and tender, and he knew it was going to have to last him for quite some time. He would not have any more time like this with her until this business was finished. When he pulled away from the kiss he looked down at her. “Stay with me for a while,” she said softly.

“I can't stay long,” he said.

“At least until I fall asleep?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “I'll stay until you fall asleep.” 

He pulled away from her completely, and she got off the bed after him. She pulled back the comforter and sheets and climbed into the bed. He got on the other side and held her close against him, shutting his eyes. He was glad he did not have to leave just yet. He knew he would have to go soon, that he couldn't stay until morning, but for now he could stay, and he would relish every moment he had until he had to go.


	5. Chapter 5

After the night in San Diego they kept their distance from each other. Not enough to make Irene think that something had changed between them, but they didn't want to make it easy to give into the temptation there would be if they were alone together. Sometimes they were alone, though, and if they could they would stay close without taking things further. A time or two they stayed up late and he fell asleep holding her close for a few brief hours. Those were the moments that got him through the time they had to spend apart. When he was with her he could pretend things were normal, but then life would intrude and he would be reminded that things were far from anything remotely considered normal.

It had been nearly three weeks later when they ended up in New York City. They had been exhausted after a long trip, and the motel they went to only had two rooms with one bed each. There had been some debate as to who would take what room. Irene had said she could share with Sherlock but he had vetoed it. Molly had protested about sharing a room with him, and after a moment the motel clerk told them of another place down the street that might have an open room. Molly had said she would try her luck there but Sherlock decided the two of them could have the available rooms and he would see about staying elsewhere.

He had left and taken a cab to the other motel, but it too was booked solid. That clerk told him that there was another motel he could try but he was too tired to think about it. He left the lobby and got on his mobile to call Molly. She picked up after three rings. “Sherlock?”

“There wasn't a room,” he said. “I'll sleep on the floor but I'm going to drop from exhaustion.”

“You really should stay with Irene,” she said quietly. “She really wanted you to.”

“Right now I just want a pillow and a blanket and rest. If I stay in her room she'll want intercourse and I'm too damn tired right now.”

She was silent for a few minutes. Then she sighed. “Come to my room. I'm on the second floor, last door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said. He hung up and hailed another cab, making his way back to the motel. He dragged himself up the stairs and made his way to her room, knocking on the door. After a moment Molly opened the door. He looked at her. “I promise, I won't let her think anything happened. I'll sleep on the floor tonight.”

“I'm not going to let you do that and you know it,” she said as she moved out of the way. “Go to the washroom and change and then climb into bed.”

“Are you going to sleep next to me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I can stand a night on the chair.”

“No. If either of us gets the bed it's you,” he said insistently. 

“We ran a risk sleeping next to each other last week,” she said. “Every time we do end up sharing a bed we're just courting disaster. You take the bed and I'll take the chair, and that's final.” She stepped away from him but he reached over for her wrist, grabbing it. “Sherlock, I can't keep doing this.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She didn't turn to look at him. “If I go home I promise I'll wait for you. But I can't watch you with her. I can't make myself act like it doesn't bother me anymore. I want you all for myself. And in my head I think I'm turning into her, being greedy and selfish for wanting that.” She turned around to face him and looked at him intently. “I don't want to be her. I don't want to demand you all for myself.”

He let go of her wrist and she looked hurt for a moment, but then he stepped forward and kissed her. They hadn't done that since San Diego, and in an instant she melted against him, kissing him back. When he needed to breathe he pulled away from her, staying close. “You are not Irene. You will never be like Irene. Don't think you will be.”

She put her hands on his chest. “What are we going to do, Sherlock? We're in a situation that's only going to end up with one of us being hurt. Either she's going to find out and one or both of us are going to get punished, or we're going to have to keep up this charade and we're going to hate each other by the time this is over. I don't want either of those things to happen but we both know that's the way it's going to play out.”

“I'll send you home tomorrow,” he said quietly. “I'll send you home tomorrow and I'll do everything in my power to come back to you.”

She nodded slowly. “All right.”

“I don't know what type of man I will be when I return,” he said, running a hand up and down her back. “So promise me you will be there for me when all of this is over.”

“I promise,” she said softly. A tear slipped down her cheek and he moved a hand up to wipe it away. “I hate this. I really hate this, Sherlock.”

“I know.” He pulled her close against him and they stood there for a moment. He knew this was probably going to be one of the hardest things he had done since he had left London. He knew if he sent her away he was going to end up walking down the path that Irene wanted him to walk, and he wasn't sure if there would be anything left of himself by the time he was done. But if she was in London she would be safe. Mycroft would make sure of it, at the very least. His brother would do that much for him. That was the thing he needed to hold on to.

He didn't know who had initiated the second kiss. But soon they were kissing again, and he found that if he needed to let her go he wanted one more night with her, one more memory to keep close. Even though he was dead tired he found himself lifting up her shirt as she frantically undid the buttons of his. She wanted this just as badly, he realized. He had pulled her top off and she had just managed to get his shirt undone when there was a knock at the door. She pulled away from the kiss and looked up at him with wide eyes. “This can't be good,” she said quietly as there was another knock, more insistent this time.

“Which room was Irene's?” he asked, quickly trying to rebutton his shirt.

“The one next to mine,” she replied. She knelt down and picked up her shirt, yanking it back on over her head. “Sherlock, she's got to know. No one else would be knocking on my door.”

“Let's try and get ourselves set to rights,” he said. He got his shirt buttoned up again as there was a third knock, this time sounding like someone was pounding on the door. He looked at Molly and then nodded. “Answer it.”

Molly nodded, moving towards the door. She opened it and saw Irene standing there. The woman lowered her hand and then crossed her arms. “Funny thing about paper thin walls at cheap motels,” she said, coming into the room. “You can hear all sorts of things in the room next to yours.”

“And I'm sure you got an earful,” Sherlock said.

“How long has it been going on?” she asked as Molly shut the door behind her. “How long have I been sharing you without knowing it?”

“We haven't—” Molly began, but Irene held up a hand, not looking at her. Molly's protest tapered off at that point.

“Your shirt is on backwards,” Irene said, staring Sherlock directly in the eyes. “So something was about to happen in this room. What I want to know is how many other times it happened.”

He squared his shoulders. “Once,” he said. “Only once.”

“Somehow I find I don't believe you,” she said, moving closer to him. “So tell me the truth. Five? Six? More than that?”

“Just once,” he said insistently.

She looked at him. “What does she have that I don't, Sherlock?”

His jaw hung open slightly. “Are you honestly asking me to compare the two of you?” he asked after a moment.

“I was being honest in Moscow. I can give you what she gives you. You don't need her.” She stepped into his personal space and placed her hands on his chest, just as Molly had moments earlier. He found it filled him with disgust, and he wasn't sure if the disgust was directed inward or at her. “I can be everything you want.”

“You can't be her,” he said quietly.

“But I can make you forget her,” she said, leaning in. “You'll never miss her by the time I'm done.” He glanced over at Molly, who had shut her eyes. Irene leaned in and pressed her lips to his and after a moment he kissed her back. She stopped after a minute or so, then pulled away. “You really are in love with her,” she said quietly, in an almost stunned voice.

“No, I'm not,” he said, and he saw a tear slip down Molly's face. He was hurting her and there wasn't anything he could do about it. 

“Then prove it.” Irene pulled away from him a bit. “Make her leave while you take me on her bed. Or better yet, make her listen. Make her listen to you pleasuring me.”

“Stop,” Molly said quietly. “Just do what you need to do. I'll leave.”

Sherlock looked at Irene, who had a look of expectancy on her face, and then glanced over at Molly, who looked absolutely heartbroken. Finally he turned back to Irene. “No,” he said, looking at her.

“No what?” Irene asked incredulously.

“No, I'm not going to make her leave and no, I'm not going to make her listen to us together because we're not going to _be_ together,” he said adamantly. “I can't do this any more. It was a mistake ever asking for your help, Irene. You have been leading me down a path I don't want to go. I followed at first because I thought that was the only way, but I am not going to allow you to do that any more.”

She stared up at him, her mouth open and a shocked look on her face. “You're telling me no?” she asked.

“I'm telling you no,” he said, crossing his arms.

“No one rejects me,” she said, taking a step back. “Certainly not my lover.”

“Well, then let me be the first.” He brushed past her and opened the door. “Go back to your room or not, I don't care. But you are not getting your way tonight.”

She stared at him, and then something seemed to settle over her. She straightened up and then made her way to the door. She stopped when she got close to Molly. “I hope you enjoy him while you can,” she spat out towards her. Then she walked over to him. “You'll regret this. I'll make sure of it,” she said quietly.

“I'm sure you will,” he said coldly. “But I'll be up for the challenge.”

She slapped him across the face as soon as he was done speaking, but he stood there and took it. She exited the room and he shut the door behind her, shutting his eyes and composing himself for a moment. When he opened his eyes he found Molly had gone over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it and wrapping her arms around herself. “Molly?” he asked tentatively, moving towards her.

“You should have just let me leave the room,” she whispered. “I would have left tomorrow and you wouldn't have her as an enemy.”

“She wouldn't have let you leave. She would have made you stay.” He moved to the bed and sat down next to her. “I wouldn't have put you through that.”

“I could have handled it,” she said, looking at him. “I could have covered my ears and shut my eyes and tried to block it all out. Sherlock, we know she's dangerous. And now she hates us both.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. He could hear thumping and banging in the other room. Irene had been right; the walls really were paper thin. “I don't think it's safe for us to be separated.”

“I don't think it is either,” she said. After a moment she leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. “You can always let it all go. Just go back to London and forget about it all. It would be safer there.”

“But there would still be a threat looming over our heads. Two of them, most likely. Irene and Magnussen. We would never truly be safe.”

“But we could be safer.”

He said nothing else for a moment as they listened to Irene in the other room. After ten minutes the noises stopped, except for a door being slammed shut. Molly started slightly at that, but there was silence after that. Irene had made her decision and left. It had not happened at all the way he had hoped it would, but a weight had been lifted off his shoulders even as he knew he would have to be extremely careful from here on out. After a moment he turned to Molly and pressed a kiss in her hair. “We should get some rest. There's nothing else we can do tonight.”

“I suppose you're right,” she said with a sigh. She moved her head away and stood up. “I just hope we can both get through this without any serious damage.”

“I hope we can too,” he said after a moment. He stood up as well. He could go a night sleeping in his clothes, if he slept at all. Now that Irene was gone, now that she had issued her threat, he was going to have to be alert, because now both their lives depended on him keeping them safe. As Molly pulled back the covers and slipped into bed he joined her, holding her close, and he knew if sleep came to him at all tonight it would be an uneasy rest.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just the two of them now, and in a way Sherlock was relieved and in another he was worried. If Irene had left under any other circumstances he would have been elated, but now he had a nagging worry in the back of his head. One day she would make them both pay, but he had no clue as to the when or the how, just the why. He had alerted Mycroft when they had woken up the next morning and so his brother was spending time, energy and resources he shouldn't have had to to try and keep them safer. He appreciated it but he knew it was going to cost him the next time his brother wanted a favor.

Molly had become withdrawn for a time afterward, barely eating and barely sleeping. He had done this to her, he realized, and it hurt to see. It was similar to what he had done to his friends, only he was confronted with it on a daily basis. He was causing her to suffer and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He didn't know how to talk to her about it and even if he did he wouldn't have known what to say to allay any fears she might have.

Three weeks had passed and finally he couldn't stand it anymore. He had spent the whole night wide awake as she slept on the opposite side of the bed as him, watching her sleep. She didn't let him stay close as often anymore, and he savored the times when she did. This was another night where she only got a few hours of sleep, and he watched her eyes flutter open and her stare at the ceiling. “I'm sorry,” he said softly.

She shut her eyes again. “It's all right,” she said.

“No, it's not,” he said. He sat up in the bed, resting his head against the wall. “I did this to you. You barely eat, you barely sleep. If I had just played along one more night and let you go back to London the following day this wouldn't be happening.”

“She wouldn't have let me leave the room,” she said with a sigh. “And I don't think I could have listened to that. If you had played along I would have hated the both of you when it was over. I wouldn't have cared what happened to you after that, and I would have been hoping for a really messy end for her.”

“I could have insisted you leave,” he said, turning to look at her.

“And she would have insisted I stay so she could gloat.” She rolled over onto her side and looked at him. “It was a no win situation, Sherlock. I realize that now.”

“Is there anything I can do to make this up to you?” he asked.

“I'm not sure.” After a moment she sat up, moving closer to him. “We need to take a break. We don't have any new leads and right now we just need to take a break. Do something to take our minds off of things.”

“I can agree to that,” he said with a nod. “Do you want to stay here?”

She shook her head. “I don't like this city very much. For a day, let's just go somewhere else. Somewhere we can pretend to be normal.”

He thought for a moment. They were in Atlanta right now, and there were a few places nearby that might interest her. There wasn't going to be any activity in this city for another few days, if it even happened at all. They could spare some time away. “What about Savannah?” he asked.

She gave him a small smile. “I would like that,” she said with a nod. He reached over for her hand, grasping it. She turned her hand over so their palms were touching. They stayed like that for a few minutes before she yawned. “Why don't we see if I can get some sleep, all right?”

“All right,” he said. He let go of her hand and she rolled back on her side, staying close. He hesitantly put an arm around her waist and after a moment she braced his arm with hers and he relaxed. He shut his eyes and surprisingly went to sleep soon after she did.

They woke up the next morning and gathered up their things. They could spare four days in Savannah before they needed to come back and he needed to start making plans. He used one of the IDs his brother had provided for him with the accompanying credit card to rent a car and they drove north. Neither of them spoke much on the ride up there, but it wasn't an uneasy silence. As they put Atlanta behind them he could see her relax, and she even seemed to be a bit happy. He found himself giving her a grin a few times and getting one in return. It had been a long while since she had smiled at him in quite that way, and it was good to see her do it now.

They got to Savannah and found a place to stay for the next few days. It was not a big name motel but rather an inn deep in the heart of the old part of the city. They put their things away and then left to go walk around the city, even though it was chilly. A few minutes after they left the inn she reached over for his hand. “I think this was a good idea,” she said, looking over at him.

He laced his fingers between hers. “I'll do my best to make things up to you while we're here, if I can,” he said softly.

“Let's just pretend we're on vacation, that we're a normal couple who want to explore a beautiful Southern city,” she said. “Let's not talk about anything related to what we're really doing in this part of the world until we have to go back to Atlanta.”

“I can do that,” he said with a nod. “I think the first thing we should do is find a restaurant to eat lunch at.”

“I like that idea,” she said with a smile. They walked around some more, hand in hand, until finally they found a place that piqued her interest. There had been good food, and they had managed to have an entire conversation that to anyone else in the restaurant would have made them think of a couple enjoying a holiday together. When they were done they did more sightseeing. He let Molly decide what they would do and where they would go, and he found he was enjoying himself. Their life lately had been so full of stress and tension that it felt good to pretend they were normal even if they both knew that wasn't the case.

After a day full of exploring the city and another satisfying meal they made their way back to the inn. It was late but not too late, and despite it not quite being spring it felt a bit warmer than he supposed it would. She opened the doors to the balcony of their room and stepped outside. After a moment he joined her, standing behind her. He held her close, putting his arms on her shoulders, and after a moment she put her hands on his arms and leaned back against him. They could hear music in the distance but it was relatively quiet where they were, and he appreciated it. “This is very nice,” he said as they listened to the nightlife of the city.

“It is,” she said with the barest of nods. “When everything is over we should come back.”

“I think when this is all over I'll want to stay in London for a long time,” he said.

“But after that, after we're back to our old lives. After that we should travel for fun. Just you and I with nothing to worry about.”

“Do you want that much of a future with me?” he asked quietly, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I do,” she said. “I don't know if you want the same, but I want to have a future with you.” She let go of his arms and moved forward slightly and he let go of her. She turned to face him. “I'm think I'm in love with you, Sherlock. Even after everything that's happened I am fairly sure about that. And if you don't feel the same way it's all right. But you should know.”

He nodded slowly. He still wasn't sure of exactly what it was he felt for her, but it was beyond simple caring. It could be love, but he simply wasn't sure. But she didn't leave him much time to think about it when she moved closer and kissed him softly. She had not kissed him since the night where Irene stormed out, and he had thought she might not ever do it again. He had missed it greatly, he realized as he settled his hands on her waist as he kissed her back, still keeping the kiss gentle. After a few minutes she pulled away and gave him a smile. “I didn't think you would do that again,” he said quietly, sliding his hands around to the small of her back to pull her closer.

“I wasn't sure I would either, for a while,” she said as she settled her hands on his chest. “I was angry and scared and worried and I didn't want to dump it all on you. I didn't want you to see just how much it affected me. But maybe I should have. I don't think I want to go that long without us being close again.”

“I won't push you away if you don't push me away,” he said, looking at her intently. “I promise.”

“Then I promise as well.” She slid her hands up slightly. “I think I should show you I'm okay now.”

“And how are you going to do that?” he asked, giving her a smile.

She didn't reply but she kissed him again. He kept her close and kissed her back. It was a kiss that showed that tonight they would not be sleeping on opposite sides of the bed as they had most of the time since the confrontation. She kissed him with a slow building passion until she finally began to push him back into the room. He kept her as close as he could until they were back inside and closer to the bed. Then she pulled her body away to reach between them and pull his shirt up before unbuttoning it. She pulled away from the kiss and gave him a rather seductive grin as she pushed him closer to the bed. He got out of the shirt and once the back of his legs hit the bed she gently pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge of it. He moved back slightly as she pulled her own shirt off, tossing it to the side. He reached over for her and pulled her closer, until finally she got on the bed, straddling his lap. “I think I'm going to spend quite a bit of time just kissing you,” she said, looking down at him.

“We haven't really done much of that,” he said with a nod, running a hand up her back. “Do you have other plans after that?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“I find I'm quite eager to know what they are,” he said quietly.

She kissed him again, settling her hands on his chest slightly as he moved his hand to the clasp of her bra. He undid it easily but she didn't pull away from him to take it off, instead kissing him in a way that led him to believe he was in for an interesting night. He moved his hand up to her shoulders, pushing the strap off one shoulder, then the other, hoping she got the hint. She pulled away at that point and looked at him with a wide smile. “Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked, her eyes lit up with amusement.

“I think we're both overdressed,” he said.

She chuckled slightly. “I'll take my bra off, but if you aren't going to be patient I'm going to be cross. And I might just stop doing this.”

He tightened his hold on her. The fact that she was even allowing him to be intimate with her again, the fact that she was allowing him to be close, was something he didn't want to take for granted. He didn't want to ruin the moment. If he really was going to try and make this up to her he should let her direct whatever was going to happen this evening, at the very least. “All right. I'll be patient,” he said with a nod.

“Good.” She pulled away from him again, pulling her bra away from her chest and sliding the straps the rest of the way down her arms before tossing it to the side. Then she looked at him intently. “When you've been intimate with other women, have any of them ever pleased you?” she asked after a moment of silence.

His brows furrowed as he thought about that. He hadn't had many lovers in his life, but as he thought about it he realized that no, none of them had. He shook his head. “No,” he said finally.

“Then let me be the first,” she said.

“That's not how it's supposed to work,” he said with a frown.

“Well, that's how it's going to go tonight. Please let me do this, all right?”

“If you're sure,” he said after a moment.

“I am,” she said with a nod. “Stand up again.”

He stood up and she went to the waistband of his trousers, undoing the button and then unzipping them. She pushed them off his hips and then pushed them farther down. He stepped out of them and kicked them to the side slightly as she lowered the waistband of his pants. Once they were down he stepped out of them as well. Then she gently pushed him back onto the bed so he was sitting down on the edge. After a moment she knelt down in front of him. She grasped him in her hand lightly, running it up and down, and then she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back. No one had ever done this for him before, and while this wasn't exactly what he had thought was going to happen it still felt very good. She moved her mouth up and down, curling her tongue around him and using some suction, taking him deeply into her mouth. He moved his hands to her hair and tangled his fingers in it, being careful not to pull or push her too much.

She continued until he was close to orgasming and then he pulled her away slightly. She looked up at him, studying him intently. “I know you want to please me, but I don't want tonight to go that way,” he said quietly.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He moved his hands and nudged her up more until she was standing. He reached for her skirt and pushed it down until it pooled on the floor, and then he reached for the waistband of her knickers and did the same. When she was naked he pulled her close again so she was straddling his lap again. He positioned himself at her entrance as she lowered herself onto him, and he moved his hands to her hips. She rose up and lowered herself again, building up to a rhythm until she was riding him hard. He knew his fingers were digging into her hips but he wanted her to take him as deeply as she could. Finally he reached between them and began to play with her clit. She moaned softly and he could hear her breath hitch. When she began to come her stopped teasing her and gripped her hips again, surging up as he came himself. Finally it was over and the two of them were panting, trying to catch their breath.

She didn't move from on top of him, instead leaning in and kissing him softly. They stayed that way for quite some time, and when she finally pulled away she looked down at him with an amused smile on her face. “I think tomorrow I don't want to leave this room,” she said quietly.

“I could agree to that,” he said with a grin of his own.

“Good,” she said before kissing him again. Eventually they would need to leave the room, leave Savannah and go back to the task at hand, but for now he could forget it all and concentrate on her, on making her happy. If he could do that then maybe some good would come out of all of this.


	7. Chapter 7

He wasn't able to get much information in Atlanta, but he got some. The two of them moved on to the next city they had been pointed to, leaving America to go to a city that was familiar to him: Paris. He was nervous about this. Mycroft had not been able to track down Irene's whereabouts, and if she had gone back to Paris after the night in New York he didn't want to run into her anywhere. But he didn't have time to wait for Mycroft to tell him whether she was in the city or not. The person he needed to get information from would only be in Paris for a two day span, and they had three days to get there and figure out how to capture him to get him to talk.

He had left Molly in the hotel room the day after they arrived while he tried to get things set up. He felt on edge as he moved around the city, though, and he felt something claw at his insides the more time he spent away from her. He took a moment to sit at a cafe and really think about the information he had picked up in Atlanta. The small window of time to extract the person had caused him to leave quickly, but the more he thought about things the more it all seemed off. And now that he was taking the time to really sit there and go over everything, the more he began to realize this was all a trap, and he had left Molly alone. If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.

He made his way back to the hotel, pausing in the alley nearby to check that his gun was loaded. He had no clue what he would encounter once he got back to his room, and it didn't hurt to be prepared. He made his way inside the building and took the lift up to his floor. He slowly made his way to the room, waiting outside for a moment. He pulled the gun out from behind his back and then reached in his pocket for his key card, letting himself into the room. “Molly?” he asked, taking his hand off the doorknob to grip his gun better.

“Sherlock,” she said gratefully. He entered the room and saw what was possibly what he had feared most: Molly sitting in a chair with Irene standing behind her, a gun to Molly's head. “She had her own key.”

“So I suppose the hints I dropped were so tantalizing you came here without really planning things out,” Irene said, looking at Sherlock. “You can be surprisingly gullible sometimes.”

“You set this all up,” he said, letting the door shut behind him. He aimed his own gun at Irene, who in turn pushed her gun into the back of Molly's head more.

“You know, it's quite interesting what happens when you decide to inform someone that they're being hunted by a person who's like a starving dog with a bone. They'll do all sorts of clever things for you,” Irene said. “Drop the gun now, Sherlock.”

“You told Magnussen I was searching for him,” he said as he lowered the gun. After a moment he squatted down and set it on the ground. If he did the wrong thing Molly would die, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened. He straightened back up. “Let Molly go.”

“I'll let her go on one condition,” she said, nudging Molly's head forward slightly. “Choose me over her. Stop hunting him and forget about anything you might have or would have with her and work for him. There is so much you could do for him, and I could help.”

“You want me to betray everyone I hold dear,” he said slowly. “And you want me all to yourself as I do it.”

“Yes, more or less. If you want her to walk out of this room instead of being brought out in a body bag you'll do it.”

“You won't kill her,” he said simply. “That's not in your nature.”

“I've already killed someone,” she said with a smug smile. “The man you promised would live in Prague.”

“You killed him?” Molly asked, shocked.

“After the two of you left I went back and I tortured him. It was actually quite invigorating. I got him to tell me far more than he told you. And then while he was begging for his life I shot him in the back of the head. If I thought watching you commit acts of violence was arousing that was nothing compared to doing it myself.”

“You're a sadist,” Sherlock replied.

“Maybe I am,” she said with a shrug. “And it's partly your fault. When you saved me from the terrorists I didn't realize how much I could enjoy violence. You started it that day, but I wasn't able to relive that until you searched me out and asked for my help. And then I knew I could get my fill of it. But then you chickened out. You were never that violent again, and you were letting everyone live. That wasn't what I wanted at all.”

“I never should have saved you,” he said.

“But then you would have felt guilty, and that's an emotion you wouldn't have been able to handle,” she pointed out. “You don't like emotions because they complicate things. But then you fell for _her_ and suddenly it didn't seem to matter that emotions were complicated. You'd die for her, wouldn't you? Kill for her?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

“Then work for Magnussen and she'll be free to go home and live a life without you. You'll save her life if you just stop hunting him, if you stay with me.”

“What's to stop him from going after her in the future, though?” he asked.

“Nothing, I suppose. But if you don't agree I'll just shoot her dead right now and it will all be your fault.” Irene looked at him. “It's your choice, Sherlock. It all comes down to how far you'll go to keep your precious lover alive.”

He looked at the two women. He couldn't do anything to stop Irene without her killing Molly first. But he knew if he agreed to her demands he would never be free, and neither would Molly or his friends. He couldn't do that to them. He couldn't cause them to be in danger every waking moment. But he had no other choice. “Let her go first and then I'll agree to your demands.”

“Sherlock, no,” Molly said.

“Be quiet,” Irene said, pressing her head down more with the gun.

“I have to keep you safe,” he said. He hoped Irene would let her get out of the chair because if she did there was a slim chance he could get both of them out of this situation with their lives. “Let her walk out of this room and I'll stop hunting him and I'll work for him.”

Irene studied him for a few minutes. “How do I know you're not bluffing?” she asked finally, tilting her head slightly. “How do I know this isn't all some part of a plan to get me to drop my guard?”

“You don't,” he said.

She nudged Molly's head forward more with the gun, then shook her head. “I think you're playing some sort of game here, Sherlock. I guess she doesn't mean as much to you as she thought she did.”

“I'm doing what you want,” he said, beginning to panic in his head a bit. “You're demanding I choose you over her. How can I show you I choose you?”

She thought for a moment. “Tie her hands to the chair and then do what I told you to do in New York. Choose me and make her watch.”

“Fine,” he said. “I'll do it.”

“Good,” Irene said with a nod. She pulled the gun away from Molly's head. He took a step forward when Molly tipped the chair back into Irene, who was standing right behind her. It threw Irene's balance off and both women went to the floor. Irene dropped the gun as Molly scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock took another step towards them as Irene reached for the gun, but Molly got oriented first and she got to it seconds before Irene, picking it up. Irene stopped moving as Molly stood up and aimed the gun at her. “You won't do it,” she said with a hint of smugness.

“If you push me I will,” Molly said.

Irene sat up and pushed the chair to the side. “This would eat you up, if you killed me,” she said. After a moment she stood up. “You'd never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again.”

“Molly, give me the gun,” Sherlock said, moving towards her.

“Yes. Give him the gun,” she said, taking a step forward. “Give him the gun so you don't do something stupid.”

“Stop moving,” Molly said, and he could see her hands were shaking.

“Why?” Irene asked, reaching behind her back. Sherlock was not surprised to see a second gun. “You know, you really would have gotten to go home. Now I suppose I'll just have to kill both of you. And I think I'll find it quite enjoyable.”

“Don't come any closer,” she said.

“You aren't going to shoot me. But I'll shoot you first,” Irene said. She aimed at Molly but before she could fire the gun Molly shot first. Both of Irene's gun had silencers on them so there was no sound, but soon a red stain was seen on the front of her blouse. Irene stared down at her chest in shock. “You...” she began.

Molly dropped the gun and put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. Sherlock came over to her and knelt down to pick up the gun as Irene stumbled to the bed. “I didn't...I mean...” she began.

“You actually did it,” Irene said before she coughed. Blood spilled out from the corner of her mouth. She dropped her own gun to the floor as she slumped to the ground. “This wasn't how it was supposed to end.” She coughed again and more blood came out.

“Molly,” Sherlock said, moving to her side.

“I didn't mean to, but she was going to shoot me first,” Molly said, her voice barely above a whisper. She was shaking now as she watched Irene struggle to take a breath. “I didn't want to. I didn't mean to.”

Sherlock stayed quiet as he watched Irene die in front of them. After a moment he went to Irene and felt for a pulse, just to be sure, and found none. He looked over at Molly and saw she was staring at Irene in shock. “Molly, listen to me,” he said, standing up. “You had no other choice.”

“I'm going to be sick,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

He moved over to her and guided her towards the washroom. When they got near the door she put a hand over her mouth and bolted into the room, slamming the door in his face. He could hear her retching on the other side of the door and he hung his head for a moment. He had not wanted this to happen. He had not wanted Molly to be pushed to take that drastic of an action. And now they had an unnecessary complication to deal with. He moved away from the washroom door and got his mobile out, dialing his brother quickly. “Irene laid a trap,” he said before his brother spoke.

“Casualties?” Mycroft asked.

“Just Irene. She forced Molly to shoot her. But she's dead in our hotel room right now.”

“This poses a problem,” Mycroft murmured. “I will take care of it, though.”

“Magnussen knows I'm after him, Mycroft. Irene told him.”

“This does not bode well for your situation.”

“No, it doesn't.” He ran his other hand through his hair. “Should I send Molly back to London? Can you guarantee she'll be safe?”

Mycroft was silent for a few moments. “I do not know if that would be altogether wise. I believe she will be safer if she is with you, but if she was the one who killed Irene I do not know if she will want to remain with you. If she does not I will do everything in my power to make sure she is safe, but I cannot make guarantees. You had made a powerful enemy in Irene and she, in turn, made an even more powerful enemy aware of you.”

“Should I just give this all up and come home?” he asked his brother quietly.

“No. I believe no one will be safe until you are finished. You have even more of a vested interest in seeing this through now. I know you do not wish it to be this way, but that is the plain truth.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Sherlock replied with a sigh. “Very well. What should I do now?”

“Take Molly out of the room and take her somewhere to get a stiff drink. I will have everything tidied up if you will give me a few hours. Then you will get a new room elsewhere as we go back to figuring out the next step in your plan.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said.

“Don't thank me for this, Sherlock. We both should have done a better job of making sure Irene wouldn't be a threat. I am simply cleaning up the mess we made.” He paused. “Give me three hours. Four at most.”

“Very well.” Mycroft hung up at that point and then turned as the washroom door opened up. Molly stepped out, looking worse for the wear. “We need to leave the room for a bit.”

She avoided looking at him. “Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“I'm not sure. Somewhere where I can get you a drink.”

“I think I need several,” she said, shutting her eyes.

He made his way over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. He expected her to shrug it off but she just stood there, shoulders slumped and head hanging. “You saved us both, Molly,” he said quietly.

“That doesn't make me feel any better,” she said with a sigh before looking up at him. “I don't think I'll be sleeping well for quite a long time.”

He thought for a moment and then pulled her into an embrace. After a moment she put her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest. “I will make sure I am there for you however you need me to be,” he said quietly. “Just as you were there for me.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. After five minutes of standing there with him she pulled away. “Let's get out of this room. I can't stand to be here anymore.”

He nodded as he let her go. “All right.”

She pulled away and made her way to the door, avoiding looking at the bed or Irene's body. He followed after a moment and then left the room with her. This had not ended the way he had hoped, but at least one threat was gone. However the larger threat loomed, and he knew he would have to be doubly careful from now on. There was so much more at stake now, he realized, and so much more to lose.


	8. Chapter 8

They went to one of the local bars for three hours. Molly remained largely quiet, drinking shots of whiskey while Sherlock watched. She had probably had six by the time he got the text from Mycroft that they could go collect their things and leave the room. Molly didn't want to go at first until Sherlock said it would be easier for them to move everything if they were both there. She was a bit wobbly as they made their way to the room and he let them in. The room looked immaculate. There was absolutely no sign someone had been shot in the chest mere hours earlier. Molly was more than tipsy but not completely drunk so he ended up getting everything packed. Soon they were ready and they took their bags out of the room.

Sherlock made the decision to get them a room somewhere else in the city for the night and then leave the country the next day when Molly was more sober. The less she was reminded of this place the better. They went to a very nice hotel and got a room, then made their way up to it. Sherlock opened the door and Molly made a beeline to the washroom. He supposed she was going to vomit up all the alcohol she had consumed, but he didn't hear any retching. Curious, he went to the door. It wasn't completely closed and he pushed it open. She was standing in front of the claw foot tub there, pulling off her shirt and tossing it to the side before undoing her trousers and pushing them down, letting them pool at her feet.

He moved into the room more as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra. She was having trouble with it, however, and after a moment Sherlock stood behind her and moved her hands away, undoing it for her. He let his fingers trail on her skin slightly and when she didn't react by pulling away angrily he moved his fingers down to the waistband of her knickers. She didn't stop him, didn't move at all, and so he slowly peeled them off of her skin, pushing them down until they, too, were pooled on the floor at her feet. She was completely naked and then she leaned over and braced her hands on the side of the tub. “I just want to take a long, hot bath,” she said quietly.

“I'll leave you in peace,” he murmured.

“The tub is big enough for you to join me,” she said after a moment.

“But the question is do you really want me to,” he said.

She turned and looked at him, stepping out of the clothing at her feet, and when she got to him she kissed him, pressing her naked body against his fully clothed one. He could taste the whiskey on her lips and he knew in the back of his head he should turn around and leave, let her take her bath and sober up some. But he had almost lost her. Irene could have easily shot first and hit the right spot and both he and Molly would be dead, And so when he kissed her back there was an urgent need that generally wasn't in their kisses. After the kiss Molly pulled away and pulled his shirt off his body, popping off buttons before tossing it to the side. Then she worked on his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly. She pushed his trousers and pants down and when he was naked she reached over and pulled him against her. “I feel very wretched and conflicted and I don't want gentle,” she said as she looked up at him.

“Perhaps we should wait,” he said gently.

“No. I just...no. I feel dead inside and I need to feel alive. Please, Sherlock. I need to feel something that isn't intense loathing at myself.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” he said.

“If it goes too far I'll tell you to stop but please, do this for me.”

He was quiet for a moment before he turned her around. Irene had let him dominate once, just because she had said it had been so long since she was submissive. He had pleased her, but the thought of doing that again filled him with distaste, even though Molly was asking. But he would do it anyway because she asked. “Lean over the side of the tub, with your back to me.”

She moved to the tub and did as she was told, bracing hands on the side and spreading her legs slightly. He moved behind her and pressed himself against her, keeping his hand between them. She might want things rough but he didn't want to actually hurt her. He moved his hand between her legs, teasing her by inserting one finger into her, then another, then a third. He pulled them in and out in a rhythm, trying to get her wet. He changed his position slightly and began to tease her clit as well. He could feel her tense and shake but before she could orgasm he stopped. Then he gripped her hips with one hand, using his feet to spread her legs farther apart. He moved his hand up to lower her down over the edge of the tub more.

When she was in the position he needed her to be in he moved his hand away and positioned himself as he got closer. He thrust into her quickly and she gasped, and then he pulled out and slammed back into her. With one hand he reached over for her hair, grasping it in a fist, and he yanked her head up as he continued to move in and out of her. He started to increase the speed when he could feel her legs begin the shake and he kept a tight grip on her hair, pulling her head up. “Don't stop,” she said through gritted teeth.

He nodded slightly even though she wasn't facing him. Finally he felt her begin to convulse around him and orgasm, and he moved in and out of her even as the contractions began to slow and then stop. He had purposefully held himself back because in all honesty he wasn't getting any satisfaction from this encounter. He let go of her hair and she sagged further against the tub, panting while she caught her breath. He took a step back and finally she stood up and turned around. She stared at him, then her gaze lowered. “Why?” she asked, taking in his erection.

“I didn't get any pleasure from it,” he said with a shrug. “I'm used to being deprived pleasure.”

She moved closer to him, until she was incredibly close, then she reached over and put her hand around him. She didn't look down at what she was doing, instead looking him straight in the eye. She moved her hand up and down, adding pressure, trying her best to get him off. After a moment she stopped, letting go of his erection and moving her hands up to his shoulders and then finally positioning her hands to the back of his neck. She pulled him down into a passionate kiss and despite everything that had just happened he returned it eagerly. She pressed herself against him and began pushing him towards the washroom wall, turning at the last moment so her back was against it.

He took the hint as what it was and lifted her up. He positioned himself at her entrance as she locked her legs around him. He thrust into her again, and she dug her nails into his shoulders. He kept thrusting, hard and heavy, and she raked her nails down his back. Finally she convulsed around him again and this time he followed, spilling into her as she moaned loudly. They stayed in that position for a few minutes before he finally pulled out of her completely She unhooked her legs and he lowered her to the floor. “We really should clean up,” he murmured.

She nodded. “We can share the bath. You get in first and I'll get in on top of you.”

“All right,” he said. He moved away from her and climbed into the tub. She started the water, adjusting it so it was hot but not scalding. She added a few capfuls of the bubble bath that was nearby, and soon it was filling up. She climbed into the tub with him, settling on top of him with her back on his chest. He wasn't sure either of them would actually get clean this way but she had wanted him with her so he said nothing. After a bit she reached over and turned the water off, then leaned back against him again. He had his arms on either side of the tub and she was resting her head on his shoulder. “We should talk,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she said with a sigh.

“Before...that wasn't something I particularly enjoyed doing. I don't like hurting you.” He moved one hand back into the water. “But I also won't say no to you.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” she said quietly. “Right then I just hated myself so much. I needed you but I didn't think I deserved anything like the other times. I didn't deserve to be treated well. And then you did it and it helped but when we were done I could see you really hadn't wanted to do it. But I needed it.”

“I know you did,” he said, moving his hand slightly so he was touching her. He trailed his fingers along her skin. “You shouldn't hate yourself, though. She forced you to kill her.”

“I could have given you the gun. I didn't have to shoot her.”

“No. If you had turned to give me the gun she would have pulled out the second gun sooner and shot you or I. She forced you to do it, Molly. You were not at fault in this.”

She was quiet for a few moments before sinking further into the water. “I'll probably tell myself that for the rest of my life and I don't think I'll ever fully believe it. I may move past it in time, but I think I'll always think of myself as a murderer.”

“It was self defense,” he said. “And I will always do my best to convince you otherwise.”

“Do you really see us having that much of a future together?” she asked quietly. “I mean, I know we've talked about it before, but when this is all over, do you want to be in a relationship with me? One where everyone knows?”

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly. “I didn't expect to feel this way towards anyone. I certainly didn't expect for it to happen now, not with everything going on. But when my feelings towards you started to change I started thinking about what it might be like when this is all over. What it could be like to go home and be together with you. And that's what I want.”

“I want it too,” she said. She moved one of her hands and reached over the side of the tub, grasping his hand in hers. “Even after today, I want to be with you when all of this is over.”

He relaxed. This had been what he'd hoped to hear, that she wanted to stay, that she still wanted him in her life. “I trust you'll still feel this way when you're more sober?”

“I will,” she replied with a slight nod. Then she was quiet again. “Do you love me, Sherlock?” she asked when she finally spoke again.

“I do,” he said quietly. “I think I have for some time now.”

“I had hoped that would be the case.” She relaxed against him more. “I think that even with everything that's been going on, with all of the problems and what we've both had to do I'm glad I came. I'm glad Mycroft talked me into coming here, because what I have with you is good. I'm happy for it.”

“It shouldn't be this way, though,” he said. “I'm thankful for it as well but things have happened that you shouldn't have had to be a part of. There are things I have done you shouldn't have had to see, things you've had to do that I regret. I would have preferred if I had done what I needed to do and come back to London and maybe had it happen eventually.”

“I don't think it would have,” she said. She pulled away from him and turned around in the tub. Water sloshed over the sides even though she was moving slowly, but soon she was facing him. “I don't think you ever would have returned home and resumed your life there. Irene would have had complete control over you and she never would have let you go. So I would have lost you before I ever got you. And you would have been absolutely miserable, even more miserable than you were when I found you and began helping.”

He moved his hand that had been in the water and ran it up and down her back. “I suppose you're right,” he said after a moment. “But I do wish things had turned out differently. I wish we'd have a more normal relationship, one where I could actually treat you as you deserve.”

“We can have that when this is all over,” she said, giving him a slight smile. “When we go home, we can have that. We can have a long life together and be boring and be happy.”

He gave her a faint smile as well. “So when this is all over you would consider having a more permanent relationship with me?” he asked.

“I think I would consider marrying you, yes,” she said. “Or at the very least living with you.”

His own smile widened considerably. “I really did think you'd hate the very sight of me today, that you would want nothing more to do with me.”

“I hate her more than you. She tricked us both and she was the main instrument in her own demise. I still hate the fact I had to do it, and I'll probably still loathe myself for a time, but I don't hate you. You only did what you felt you needed to do, and I accept that.” She moved closer and leaned in, kissing him softly. He moved his hand up to cradle the back of her head, keeping her close. When she finally ended the kiss she looked at him. “I think we should get out of this tub before we get all wrinkly,” she said quietly. “I think I'd like to rest now.”

He nodded. “All right.” She didn't move away, though, and so he pulled her in for another kiss. As she kissed him back he thought that he was incredibly lucky, that he had more to look forward to now that she had said she still wanted to be with him. But in the very back of his mind he also knew that there were more dangers on the horizon and he knew he would need to work doubly hard to keep her safe, because if he lost her he didn't know if he could live with himself afterward.


	9. Chapter 9

They realized within three and a half weeks the leads had dried up. Now that Magnussen knew he was being hunted there was no way to find him. Sherlock attempted to do so for another two weeks but soon he realized he was hitting dead end after dead end. His brother was absolutely no help, either. They were both being stonewalled and there was nothing either of them could do about it. He'd just gotten done having a frustrating phone conversation with Mycroft while he paced in the room he and Molly were sharing in Rome, and when he was done he sat down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. “There's no point anymore,” he said with a sigh.

Molly came over to the bed and sat next to him. She didn't touch him but she stayed close. “Then maybe we should go home,” she said quietly. “Stop looking for him and let it all continue. Put all of this behind us.”

“Mycroft won't let me,” he said, moving his head to look at her. “He insists I'm not looking hard enough, not trying hard enough. Magnussen's gone to ground and there isn't anything I can do to find him. I can't get information from people if I can't get to them, and everyone is on their guard. If she wasn't already dead I'd kill Irene myself.” The minute the last sentence was out of his mouth he regretted it once he saw the look on Molly's face. “I'm sorry.”

“I know,” she said. She reached over for his hand. “If Mycroft wants it to end then let him do it. Let him leave London and search himself. You don't have to do it if it's just going to end up going nowhere. Go home and pick up your life again.”

“I should,” he said, squeezing her hand. After a moment he let go and then laid down on the bed. “I miss London. I miss my home and my friends. I don't think they would all take me back, not immediately, but perhaps in time I can get back to normal.”

“And I'll be there,” she said, lying down next to him on her side. “You'll have me to help.”

“That will be a very good thing,” he said. He turned his head to look at her, studying her. “You want to be around for a very long time, right?”

She nodded slightly. “As long as you'll have me.”

“Would you marry me?” he asked quietly.

She blinked slightly. “Are you actually asking, or are you just curious?”

“I'm asking. It's rushed, I understand that, but...” He trailed off. “If you want to be around for a long time the rest of our lives sounds just about right.”

She looked at him for a moment without saying anything, and then she got a wide smile on her face. “That sounds like an acceptable length of time to me, too.”

“So you will?” he asked, grinning back.

“Yes, I will,” she said. He reached over for her, pulling her on top of him. She laughed a bit before leaning in to kiss him. It was a very long kiss, and when they were done she looked at him intently. “I do love you, Sherlock.”

“I know. I love you too.”

She yawned slightly. “We can talk about it more tomorrow, make plans. But right now I'm tired and I need sleep. And you should try and get some rest as well.” She rolled back over and then sat up. “I'm going to go brush my teeth before bed.”

“All right,” he said with a nod. She got off the bed and made her way to the washroom while he got off the bed and began to get undressed to go to sleep. After a few minutes he realized she was still in the washroom. Frowning he moved closer to the door and heard her retching. “Molly?” he asked.

“I'll be--” She stopped talking and began retching again. He opened the door and saw her kneeling in front of the loo, bracing the seat with her hands and panting over it. After a few moments she lifted her head up and looked at him. “I'm sorry.”

“Are you sick?” he asked, moving closer to her.

“I don't know. I've felt this way for a few days now. I haven't always vomited, but nausea hits me at the oddest times.”

He was quiet for a moment before kneeling down next to her and rubbing her back slightly. “Molly, do you think you might be pregnant?” he asked quietly.

She thought for a moment. “Possibly,” she said finally. “I thought with the stress and everything I might just be late, but I hadn't really thought about it. We haven't always been careful.”

“Do you want to be?” he asked.

“It's not ideal, but I wouldn't be unhappy,” she said slowly. “As long as we can go home. If I am, I don't want to keep doing this. I want to go home and go back to our lives. It will be different, I mean, but I could be happy with you and a baby now. But could you?”

“I could,” he said with a nod. “There is a lot that I would have done differently, a lot that has been done that will make readjusting hard. But if you are pregnant, if you are carrying my child...I could be happy going home and trying to settle back into a life in London.”

“Mycroft won't take it well at all,” she said with a wan smile.

“I don't care what Mycroft thinks. As you said, if he wants the problem taken care of he can just do it himself. Let him leave London and travel the world and try to solve the problem on his own. We have a chance to be happy, and we should take it.”

“So we're going to go home?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes. I'll tell him tomorrow, after I buy our tickets to go home. He could always make it hard for us, but we can weather it. I think as long as we have each other we'll be fine.”

“I know you wish I hadn't come, that I'd gone home earlier. But I'm glad I came. I mean, there's bits I really hate that have happened, but I think there's been some good. You've changed a lot. You've become a man I want to spend the rest of my life with, a good man who I know is capable of love and compassion.”

“I never would have turned out that way if it hadn't been for you,” he said. “So while part of me wants to throttle Mycroft for getting you involved in all of this I suppose I should also thank him.”

“He'd insist you thank him by finishing the mission,” she pointed out. “Send me home to be safe and make sure it's all wrapped up in a nice tidy bow before it gets tossed in the rubbish bin.”

“Well, he's not getting his way.” He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and stood up as well, and after a moment she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “Whatever happens, we'll get through it. We'll be together and we'll manage as best we can.”

“Good.” She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. “If it isn't too much trouble, as tired as I am, I kind of want to find out now. Just so we can start making plans if I actually am pregnant.”

“I can go find a pregnancy test somewhere,” he said. “But you have to let me go long enough to leave.”

“I know,” she said, but she didn't make a move to let him go. He didn't say anything else as she held onto him for a few more minutes, and then she let go with some reluctance. “All right. Go get a test.”

He nodded and went back to change back into regular clothing. When he was done he made his way to the door and let himself out. His mind was whirring a bit. She could be pregnant. Things would be very different if she was. When he had broached the idea of marriage he had thought this would be a possibility in the future, but he hadn't thought it would happen _now_. But if she was, he knew he would be thrilled. When they got home it would probably be a lot for everyone to take in, the changes in him and in her and the fact there was a them now, but he knew everyone would be happy for them, except possibly Mycroft. And that was more than enough.

It took him some time, but he managed to find a shop that had pregnancy tests. He bought two, just to be on the safe side, and he brought them back to their hotel room. She had changed into her pyjamas and was sitting on the bed, staring at her hands. “Molly?” he asked quietly when she didn't look up.

“I never thought I'd be a mum to someone else,” she said, turning to look at him. “Even if I'm not pregnant now, I can be in the future. I mean, I could be someone's mum. And you would be their dad. It just strikes me as strange.”

“But good?” he asked warily.

She nodded. “It would be good.” She got up off the bed and made her way over to him, taking the bag he was carrying in. “I'll be right back.”

He nodded and she left him to go into the washroom. She shut the door behind her and he found he didn't want to stand still, didn't want to wait patiently. He began to pace in the small room, trying not to be nervous. This could change so many things, he thought to himself, if she really was pregnant. Everything would be different from this point on and he found he wanted to know right this minute. It seemed like ages had passed when the door opened again and she came out, staring at the test. “Well?” he asked.

She moved over to him and showed him the test. There were clearly two lines on it, and he looked over at her. “I'm pregnant,” she said quietly. Then she got a wide smile on her face. “Sherlock, _I'm pregnant_. We're going to have a child together.”

He grinned back as well, picking her up and holding her close. He was half tempted to twirl her around like it was done in the movies but if she had felt ill before he didn't want her to feel ill again so soon afterward. She used her new position to lean in and kiss him softly, and after a few minutes he lowered her, still embracing her, still kissing her. “We need to go home,” he said when they finally pulled apart.

“Yes, we do. But we can make those plans in the morning. For now, we should sleep. I imagine the arguing with your brother is going to take a lot out of you.” She was still giving him a wide smile when he let her go. “Get ready for bed and then join me.”

“All right,” he said with a nod. She made her way back to the washroom and when she came back out a few minutes later she no longer had the pregnancy test in her hands. He was changing into his pyjamas when she turned back the covers and slipped into bed, turning onto her side. As soon as he was finished he got in on the other side, pulling her close against him. He let his hand drift down to her abdomen. “I wonder how far along you are.”

“Probably no more than two months,” she said. “I think I would be visibly pregnant if it was longer than that.” He could hear her yawn. “He won't kick any time soon, you know.”

“You want a son?” he asked.

She nodded slightly. “Yes, named after his father. If we have other children we can have other names picked out. But if I'm carrying a boy, he should be Sherlock Holmes the second.”

“Then I hope you're carrying a boy,” he said, pressing a kiss the the side of her neck. She snuggled against him in response, and he tightened his hold on her waist. “Get some rest now.”

“I will,” she said with a slight nod.

He held her close even when her breathing evened out and he knew she was asleep. Things were good, despite all the bad that had happened prior. He was going to have a life he'd never expected to have, and he could actually be happy. He even fell asleep with a smile on his face. He slept soundly for a time until a noise brought him out of a sound sleep. He opened his eyes and after a moment he realized he was in bed alone. He sat up, expecting to see a light under the washroom door, but what he saw instead chilled him to the bone. Molly was being held in another man's arms, limp in his grasp. Sherlock was about to throw the covers off and confront him face to face when he felt a hand clamp over his mouth and he smelled the unmistakeable scent of chloroform. And within moments he was out, his last thought being that he wasn't sure whether they would both get out of this alive and unscathed.


	10. Chapter 10

He came to slowly, groggily, tied to a chair. It took him a moment to remember he and Molly had been taken from their hotel room in the middle of the night. He lifted his head up and looked around, trying to find her. “Molly,” he said quietly as he failed to see her anywhere.

“It's good to see you're awake,” he heard a voice say from his left. It was a voice he had sworn he would never hear again, a voice he had heard in the nightmares that occasionally woke him up. A voice that belonged to a dead man. He looked over in that direction and saw James Moriarty standing there, dressed in a sharp suit and looking at Sherlock with a smirk on his face. There was another man behind him, brandishing a lead pipe menacingly. “Just in time for the night's festivities. Or morning's festivities, at this point.”

“You're dead,” Sherlock replied, his eyes wide.

“Did you really think I'd kill myself on a roof when there was still a game to play?” he asked, coming closer. “Richard Brook wasn't a lie, not really. The name was, or at least the last name. It would be too inconvenient if he went by his real name. But Richard was a real person, a real actor. He was the one who died on the roof, not me.”

“No...” he replied quietly. “It was you.”

“You knew absolutely nothing about me. You still don't, to be honest. I'm a master manipulator. I even managed to convince my twin brother to give the best performance of his career. It's a shame you were the only one to see it.” Moriarty stopped in front of him. “So I got to live and go back into the shadows and wait to see what you would do, because I knew if you could find a way out of jumping off that roof you would. But then you actually jumped. That surprised me. And so I had to accept the loss of my greatest opponent and find my amusement elsewhere.” He knelt down slightly so he and Sherlock were at eye level. “And then Irene got jilted and I learned the truth. Strange how things work out.”

“So Magnussen is a lie,” he said.

“No, he's real. He's a master blackmailer, and the man I chose to be the public face of my organization. It's quite easy to blackmail blackmailers, I've found. A bit risky, but fairly easy. His name was the name on everyone's lips, just in case I had been wrong about you.” Moriarty gave Sherlock a wide grin. “That was a well played move, by the way, actually jumping off the roof. I had wondered how you'd done it. Then Irene mentioned Molly was involved and I knew. If that lovesick idiot had a hand in your fall you could have easily survived.”

“Where is she?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh, she's here,” he said evasively, waving his hand. “She's nearby, and I'll bring her out shortly to join us. But I felt you and I should have a chat first.” He stood up again. “You enlisting Irene's help was unexpected. I'll admit, I'd never expected her to become such a bloodthirsty minx. She was quite proud that she'd gotten off after killing a man. Apparently you couldn't satisfy her enough. I bet if you'd been a better lover it might have all ended differently.”

“I used the resources I had available.”

“She'd hate to be called a resource, I think. I know I would. At any rate, you might have done some serious damage to my organization if mousy Molly Hooper hadn't been sent by your brother. That was the beginning of the end for you, you know. I sincerely doubt your brother or Irene or any of you expected for you to develop feelings for her. I certainly wouldn't have expected it. The Sherlock I had followed for so long was a walking human robot. Feelings were a chemical defect, weren't they? I'm glad I don't have any. I mean, I talked my brother into killing himself while pretending to me. Attachments don't mean much to men like us, and yet you made one anyway, and it became your greatest weakness. Tell me, Sherlock. Do you love her?”

Sherlock remained quiet. He wasn't going to give Moriarty the satisfaction of an answer. He held his head high and glared at Moriarty. Moriarty held his gaze before turning towards the other man in the room. He nodded and then man came over, holding up the lead pipe. He looked as though he was debating something, then after a moment he set the pipe aside and slugged his fist into Sherlock's face. Sherlock's head snapped to the side with the impact, but before he could recover from that the man hauled back and punched him in the gut. The fists connecting with his body hurt, but still he didn't want to give Moriarty satisfaction. He felt the man reach over and pull his hair so his head was raised and then he slammed his fist into Sherlock's face again. He could already feel his face beginning to swell before the man did it a third time. “Had enough?” he asked.

“No,” Sherlock said, his voice barely a wheeze.

“Use the pipe,” Moriarty said. “Break a bone or two.”

The man nodded and picked up the pipe, and after a moment's consideration he brought it down hard on Sherlock's left arm. He could feel the bone break beneath the impact, and he had to keep from reacting. The man raised the pipe again but this time swung it like a tennis racket, aiming for his gut. He missed and hit him in the ribs, and he could feel one of those break as well. The pain was excruciating. He wasn't sure he could take much more of this even though he'd trained himself to withstand pain. “Stop,” he said quietly, wincing as he spoke. He drooped his head forward, and after a moment he felt the man grasp his hair again to lift his head up. One eye was already swelling shut, he realized, and he could only see Moriarty through the other one. “Yes, I love her.”

Moriarty shook his head. “You're a sentimental fool. I never would have expected that. I'm actually quite disappointed in you, Sherlock.” He nodded to the man holding Sherlock's head up. “Go get her,” he said.

The man let go of his head and it dropped forward again. “Leave her alone,” Sherlock replied as the man moved away from him. “Let her go.”

“She was always a pawn. I had planned on letting her live, you know,” Moriarty said as he moved in front of Sherlock again and knelt in front of him. “There hadn't been a sniper set on her because personally I didn't think she meant anything to you. John and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson did, but she was a nobody in your eyes. You saw her as a pawn, too. And now you don't. I need you to play our game with no distractions, and she, Sherlock, is a rather large distraction.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, showing it to Sherlock. His eye widened as he saw it was the pregnancy test. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Don't hurt her,” Sherlock said, very nearly pleading.

“I'm afraid that isn't an option now,” he said. He stood back up. “You used to say you were a high-functioning sociopath. But that's not true, is it? Sociopaths wouldn't care. Sociopaths wouldn't beg for someone's life. Now me, on the other hand, I am one. Or maybe I’m a psychopath. At any rate I quite enjoy hurting people. Granted, most of the time I just watch, but every once in a while I like to get my hands dirty. I'd considered doing that today but I don't want blood on my suit. It's not Westwood but it's still good quality.”

Sherlock lifted his head up with some effort in time to see Molly being dragged into the room. Her hands were bound together in front of her and her mouth was gagged, and when she saw Sherlock and Moriarty her eyes went wide. She made noises behind the gag but the man let go of her hands and punched her in the face. The frantic sounds turned into a whimper at that point. “That'll teach you to make noise,” the man said.

“Do you like her?” Moriarty asked the man. “Like the way she looks?”

He looked at her, the reached over for her, squeezing her chin in his hand. “Yeah, I do.” Then he let go and pulled her close against him. Molly looked panicked and struggled as he settled his hand on her arse and squeezed. “I like the way she feels, too.” 

“Do you want her?” Moriarty asked.

The man licked his lips and nodded. “I'll take her.”

“I do hope rutting on the cold floor isn't too uncomfortable, Molly,” Moriarty said as her eyes got as wide as they could. “And Sherlock? I think you should watch.” He moved over to Sherlock and grabbed his hair, lifting his head up and roughly turning it towards the man and Molly.

The man roughly shoved Molly down to the floor, using one hand to pin her down as he used the other to lift her nightgown up. She struggled and Sherlock shut his good eye, feeling sick to his stomach. He could hear fabric rip and then a zipper slide down, and the noises Molly was making behind the gag were frantic and high pitched. And then he heard it, the unmistakable sound of a man penetrating a woman. The man was grunting, and all Sherlock wanted to do was kill him where he was.

Moriarty noticed after a moment and let go of Sherlock's head, prying his eye open. “I said watch, Sherlock. Watch me ruin what's yours.”

Sherlock couldn't look away, and he had to watch in horror as the man had his way with Molly. Finally he stiffened and then relaxed. “That was quite a good shag,” the man said as he pulled away from her. “I love it when they don't fight back.” He stood then and adjusted himself, and Sherlock could hear Molly whimpering underneath the gag.

Moriarty let go of his eye and moved around so he was in front of him. He had a feral smile on his face. “Oh, the look on your face is priceless, Sherlock,” Moriarty said. “That must have been hell. But I bet this will hurt even more.” He turned back to the man. “Rough her up. Make sure to pay special attention to her abdomen. Can't let her keep that child, you know.”

The man nodded and moved over for the lead pipe. Sherlock's eyes widened as the man went back over to Molly and lifted up the lead pipe, bringing it down onto her body. She screamed beneath the gag and tried to curl up to protect herself but he kept swinging. “Stop!” Sherlock yelled. “Stop. Please. Let her go.”

“I can't do that,” Moriarty said as the man continued to hit her. Sherlock watched in horror as she slowly stopped trying to protect herself, as her whimpering lowered in volume. Whatever pain he was in he was sure was magnified for her. After a few more minutes Moriarty cleared his throat. “I think that's enough,” he said.

The man lowered the pipe and then tossed it away. “I put a serious hurt on her,” he replied.

Moriarty walked over towards her, looking down at her. “Yes, I think you did.” He looked over at Sherlock. “I think you should see his handiwork first hand. It's really quite good.”

“No,” Sherlock said.

“You say that like you have a choice in the matter,” Moriarty snapped. “Untie him,” he said to the other man. He nodded and went over to Sherlock, untying the rope holding him to the seat. He slumped forward but the man hauled him up out of his seat and propelled him forward. When he got to Molly he was roughly shoved down. “Take a good look, Sherlock. See what forming attachments will cost you.”

Sherlock could see immediately that Molly was gravely injured. She was alive, because he could see her chest rise and fall with great effort, but if she didn't get care soon she wouldn't survive. “Molly,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“You know, I think now is a good time to leave you two lovebirds alone,” Moriarty said. “I've had my bit of fun. We'll get back to our great game shortly, Sherlock. Mark my words on that.” He took a step away from Molly and Sherlock, and after a moment the man did too.

Sherlock reached over with his good arm and undid the gag. He could see blood had dotted it. She was bleeding internally and he knew then he was going to lose her. “Please forgive me, Molly,” he said.

“Sherlock,” she said weakly. She lifted a hand up with great effort and touched his face. “I'm so sorry.”

“You shouldn't be apologizing,” he said, putting his hand over hers.

“I love you,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Please, don't forget that.”

“I love you too, Molly,” he said, clinging to her hand like it would save her. Moments later he felt her grip on his cheek loosen, and he saw her chest had stopped rising and falling. He continued to hold onto her hand, far longer than he had expected to, and they were still in that position when he heard the sirens. It didn't matter now, he thought to himself. Nothing mattered now. Now all that was left was an empty life. As that thought hit him he realized Moriarty had already won his great game, and now he found he didn't care. He didn't think he'd care about anything ever again.


	11. Chapter 11

One week later he was back in London, standing in the rain. He had hoped that today, at least, there would not be rain coming down from the sky. This was just another example of things that had not gone according to plan. And he had to admit, the rain was appropriate for how he felt. But she had deserved better. The funeral had been attended by quite a few people. John had been there, as had Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and her other friends and what little family she'd had left. Mycroft had done a very good job of keeping the details of exactly how she died quiet. Everyone had believed it was a tragic accident, but he and his brother knew better. She had been assaulted and hurt and humiliated before she had died, and the last thing she had seen was him, and there had been nothing he could do to save her. He had let her down, let the child they could have had together down, and he couldn't forgive himself for that.

He had hung back far from the crowd, as he had at his own funeral. He didn't want to hear the words anyone would speak about her, and how tragic it was that such a promising life was cut short. He didn't want to see people crying for the wonderful person they had lost. He didn't think he could handle it without raging at whatever force in the world decided she of all people deserved to have such a brutal and undignified end. And if he wanted to be completely honest, he knew that deep down people probably blamed him, as they had every reason to. This had been all his fault. There had been multiple opportunities to send her home, keep her safe, but he had insisted she stay and it cost her her life.

Soon the mourners all left, and the people in charge at the cemetery finished shoveling the dirt over her coffin. When they too left he made his way over to the burial site. He didn't have an umbrella and he was soaked to the bone, but it didn't matter. Whatever happened to him now didn't matter in the slightest. If he got sick and died the world would probably be better off. As it stood, he didn't really feel the will to keep living at this point. Any chance he'd had of having a good future, of having a life when all of this was over that was worth living had evaporated that day. The sounds still reverberated in his mind when he tried to sleep, and the sight of Molly dying in front of him haunted his dreams. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours as it was. He didn't think he'd get any rest any time soon, either.

There were flowers at the headstone, and he had watched the mourners lay white roses on the casket before it was lowered. He had never really asked if she had liked flowers. There was so much he knew about her and yet still so much he could have learned. He had his own flower in his castless hand, and he laid it down on top of the freshly shoveled dirt before looking at the headstone. It was simple, saying her name and the day she was born and the day she died, and a quote: “Love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone.” He squatted down and stared at the headstone for quite a while, trying to figure out how to attempt to make his peace. In the end he realized that was never going to happen. He would never be at peace with her senseless death.

Finally he spoke. “I miss you,” he said quietly. “I started missing you the minute you took your last breath. I should have sent you home, forced you to come back to London and live a life without me. I never should have let you stay, never should have put you in danger. It is all my fault you died and I will never forgive myself for that. You had so much life in you and now it's all gone and it's never coming back. And I don't know if I want to live a life without you in it. We were going to have a life together. You said you would marry me, and then there was the news that you were pregnant, and I was happy. Now I'm alone. I don't think I'll ever want anyone else.”

He stood up after a moment. “They all know I'm alive. No one is speaking to me. Not everyone blames me for your death since Mycroft has done a very good job lying about the true circumstances behind your death, about everything that happened to you, but even though everyone thinks it's a tragic accident they know I'm involved. They can't look at me with my injuries and think otherwise. I don't expect some people will speak to me ever again. And that's fine, I suppose. I don't deserve friends. I couldn't keep you safe, and I doubt I can keep them safe either. I don't think they want me to try.”

“It was all pointless,” he said after a moment's pause. “You died for nothing. He is still out there and he's still going to be a threat. But I am tired. I find I don't care about anything now, not really. If he kills me I'd actually be thankful.” He thought he heard someone to his side, but when he turned to look no one was there. He turned back to the grave after a moment. “I don't really have the will to carry on anymore. My brother wants me to put this all behind me, be a good little soldier and carry on. But I can't do it. He doesn't understand what I lost when you died, what I went through while I watched...” He shut his eyes but he was taken back to the room, and for a moment all he heard were her frantic screams muffled by the gag and her whimpering. His eyes opened again and he looked down at the dirt. “What you went through so Moriarty could hurt us both,” he said quietly.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to think of what he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke again. “I don't think I'm going to be alive much longer. I've fallen back onto old habits, ones worse than smoking. It dulls the sounds in my head, keeps me from thinking about what happened. If that doesn't kill me I'm fairly sure I will be taken care of in short order. And that would be a relief, I think. Then I would stop feeling anything at all. I can't think about you without feeling such immense guilt. I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty. So maybe it's best if I cease to live as well. Perhaps if I am lucky I will go quickly and without pain, but I deserve much worse, and you deserved much better.”

He moved closer to the headstone and ran his fingers over the top of it for a moment. “I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, but I know you did. You're probably in Heaven right now. I hope you are. If you aren't I don't think that's right. You were one of the best people I ever knew. You deserved so much more, so much better than me. And yet you loved me anyway. You saw things in me I no longer saw in myself, things that I think will never come back, and now that you're gone I don't think it will matter if there was ever good in me. And I am so sorry you are gone. I love you, Molly, and I wish you were still here. I wish you were here instead of me.”

He turned at that point, leaving her grave behind him. He had been honest and truthful, opening himself up and laying himself bare. He had hoped it would make him feel better but it hadn't. Still, it needed to be said. And now he was going to try and numb the pain, numb the thoughts and numb the sounds. And if he didn't wake up, so much the better. Everything he touched turned to ash, everyone he had cared about was no longer in his life, and he knew that there was no way he would ever get anything back, that nothing would ever be the same. He was a shell of a man now, hollowed out and broken, and the world had no need for him anymore. Perhaps it was best.

His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket, looking at who was calling. It was his brother, and he debated answering it and giving his brother a piece of his mind, but he found he honestly didn't care. Mycroft would never understand. Mycroft would want him to continue to the end, fix all the messes and set the world back to rights. That was just the way his brother was. He stared at the phone for a long moment and then tossed it on the ground, still ringing. He was done. He was done with everything, with his brother and the mission, with the overwhelming guilt and sense of loss, with the effort it was taking to wake up and exist. He was done with it all. He walked away and knew that, without a doubt, he would not wake up the next morning. He just hoped no one cared enough to stop him. He didn't think they did, and that was fine. Let them all mourn Molly, celebrate her life and her love, and forget about the great Sherlock Holmes. It was better that way.


End file.
